


Become the Beast

by DarthDre



Category: Bowers Gang - Fandom, Bowers Gang- Fandom, IT (2017), IT - Stephen King, The Bowers Gang - Fandom, The Bowers Gang- Fandom
Genre: Bowers Gang AU, Bowers Gang Crime Drama AU, Bowers Gang Modern AU, F/F, F/M, Murder, Serial Killer
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 16:26:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 61,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16836274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarthDre/pseuds/DarthDre
Summary: FBI Agent Y/N is called back to Derry, even though she swore she would never return, to investigate a possible serial killer.But, to what lengths will she go to stop the serial killer? Will she lose herself, or keep true to herself? Will she be able to keep the secrets of her past covered?





	1. The Return

**Author's Note:**

> This was an idea that I just had to write. This is a modern AU story, set about 12-14 years after the movie, with no Pennywise, soz. But, I did add a character in there that I think some of you might appreciate. :) The relationships in the beginning are a little muddy, being that there is a far more complicated history between the gang and the reader. Anyways, here is the first chapter to this seemingly frustrating idea. I hope you all enjoy it.
> 
> [I am currently about 9 Chapters into this story, so I'm going to post them all in bulk, hope you all strap in for a crazy ride, you're probably gonna hate me for this. ALSO, this story has an extreme amount of violence, and there are hints of mental health issues, alcoholism, drug use, etc. Point is, this story is a crime drama, and there will be some very triggering content. Please, please, please, do not read any further if any of this might trigger you. I am not joking, this story gets darker as time progresses, and it will only get uglier. With that being said, please heed my warnings and don't read it if any of the subject matter troubles you.]

_She inhaled deeply as she felt his hardness inside of her; he wasn’t known for being soft, but on this rare occasion, he didn’t pummel into her like a jackhammer. No, this was smooth, almost loving. It was strange, and alien._

_In the background, the faint music of Def Leppard was playing through the speakers of his boombox._

_He paused for a moment, taking her in. She felt as though he could see right through her, and she suddenly felt bashful, “What?”_

_His hands grazed her face, softly tracing the outline of her lips, staring at her as if he couldn’t believe she was real, “Don’t ever leave me.”_

_Y/N sighed, smirking slightly at his words, “I won’t ever leave you, I promise.”_

_He closed his eyes slowly, signifying his trust in her. Gently, he began to move again, allowing his feelings towards her to flow through. In that moment, Y/N felt alive, and she knew he did as well._

* * *

The trees breezed by as she drove down the ever so familiar road to a place she swore she would never return to.

_Derry fucking Maine._

The sky was overcast, as the autumn season began to roll in. The summer was gone, and with it the sunny days; giving way to the cool, fall breeze and the changing colors of the leaves from green to orange, yellow and red.

Her eyes glanced over to the files on the passenger seat that read confidential in big red letters, and then back to the winding road.

Y/N spent the majority of her late teens and early adulthood avoiding returning to the dreaded town. And here she was, driving into the mouth of the devil.

She assured herself that it was for a good reason; that they needed her.

And as much as she fought with her superior about the assignment, he was adamant that she was perfect for the job.

“You’re familiar with the vicinity, and the people; you’re more likely to get further on this case than any other of our agents,” he said, looking at her through his gold wire rimmed glasses.

“Ivan, I haven’t been there in years,” she retorted, somewhat resisting. _And I doubt any of the people there would talk to me either way_ , she thought, recalling how much of a shit she was in her childhood and teenage years.

“Still, you’re one of the best; your work on the missing person’s case in Seattle was outstanding, I’m sure you’ll find the person behind these murders in no time,” he continued, seemingly oblivious to her objections.

“That was different, Ivan,” she groaned, staring out of the large window of his office, her hands on her hips.

“No, it isn’t,” he said, turning the file over to her, he pointed his thick finger on the crime scene photos, “Local P.D. is having a hard time with this one, they think it’s a serial killer.”

Y/N turned and eyed the file, squinting her eyes as she approached Ivan’s desk. Her arms stretched out over the desk as she observed the photos, Ivan continued to speak as she studied them, knowing full well that he hooked her, “See anything interesting?”

“No, there’s no M.O, for all you know these could be random,” she supposed, but even she didn’t believe it.

“Those words coming from you are a disappointment Y/N, with the amount of missing people showing up dead in that town, it has to be a serial killer,” he pressed.

Y/N’s gaze finally met his studious, brown eyes, “There’s no M.O, but if there is a pattern, you would be the one to find it. You didn’t earn the badge by playing it safe, you earned it by following the clues and connecting dots that no one could see but you,” he pointed to the photos in the file, “Find the person that did this, Y/N.”

As much as she wanted to pass the assignment over to someone else, _anyone_ else, she knew Ivan was right.

And now here she was, slowing down to 30 miles per hour as she drove her classic black charger down Main Street, the sound of the engine loud as she roared into the quiet streets of Derry.

Her eyes tried to avoid staring at her old hangout spots for too long, trying to evade the impending nostalgia that threatened to break through.

The town was still small and quaint, if she was being honest. From the tint of her sunglasses, she could still see the people walking down the sidewalk eyeing her car suspiciously.

She assumed the police station was where it used to be all those years ago, and she was right as she pulled into the familiar parking lot. Sluggishly, she turned off the ignition and gathered her files, exiting the car, she lit a cigarette and smirked as she stared at the building.

As much as she hated it, she recalled the amount of times she came in and out of this very station; the crimes varied from fighting to property damage to possession of narcotics.

Y/N became aware that the people on the sidewalks and across the street began to stare at her. She began to feel very uncomfortable standing there that she tossed her cigarette onto the ground as she rushed into the building, feeling slightly irritated that she wasted a good cigarette.

The building smelled the same way it did when she was young, musty with a strange moldy smell that never really seemed to go away, no matter how much they cleaned it. A lady with blonde hair, smacking a piece of gum in her mouth eyed her warily as she approached the reception, “What can I help you with?”

“I’m here to speak to Carson,” Y/N announced, somewhat annoyed with the girls’ stare and tone of voice.

“It’s Chief Carson, and he’s not seeing anyone right now,” she scoffed, blowing a bubble with her gum.

Y/N felt her temper start to rise, she bit her bottom lip to try to contain her anger, “Alright, then he can solve the murders on his own,” she pushed down her sunglasses so the receptionist could look her straight in the eyes as she continued, “And when I head back to D.C, I’ll be sure to let him know that his useless receptionist refused to get her ass up and tell him that Special Agent Y/L/N was here.”

Pushing her sunglasses back up to the bridge of her nose, She turned towards the door, but as soon as her hand touched the long, silver handle, the girl quickly began to stammer, “Wa—wait, I had no idea who you were, he’ll—he will see you right away.”

Y/N glared at the girl over her shoulder; she smoothly turned and lowered her sunglasses, “Well?”

“Um, follow me,” she said, walking toward the back of the row of offices. Y/N followed the blonde down the hall, feeling the small shivers down her spine. She could feel the eyes of the officers on her, and she began to feel uncomfortable when she heard whispering.

The receptionist knocked on the solid wood door, “Chief, the Special Agent is here.”

She heard shuffling and footsteps approaching the door. She smirked to herself when she saw the man that opened the door, he still looked the same. Albeit, his eyes looked tired, the mustache that was thick and black was now white as was the thinning hair on his head, “Thank you, Greta.”

Y/N’s brows furrowed at the mention of the name, she eyed the woman carefully and sure enough, she realized that this was the same Greta that she despised in her younger years. Carson smiled tiredly as he greeted Y/N, “Please, come in.”

She pushed past Greta, feeling that familiar rivalry come to surface. It was silly, that she would still feel animosity towards her when she hadn’t seen her in years, still, it was hard to suppress those feelings. Carson shut the door silently as she took a seat on one of the old, leather topped chairs in front of his desk.

“I have to admit, I wasn’t expecting you so soon,” Carson said, coming around to the other side of the desk.

Y/N pulled her sunglasses off, folding them as she pushed them into the inside pocket of her black coat, “My superiors believe you have a serial killer on your hands, the sooner we find him the sooner shit can get back to normal.”

_Normal_ , she thought, _was a foreign word when it came to this town’s matters._

Carson sighed, “I’m afraid we do too, I was hesitant to ask for help, but this is proving to be a tough one,” he leaned back on his chair, “Hell, people are too scared to be out at night.”

She nodded, “You have set a curfew?”

“Yes,” he answered, “However, that is proving to be useless, as people still go missing at random intervals of the day.”

Y/N looked down at her file, “Our serial killer doesn’t necessarily have an M.O, but it seems he is targeting women, the youngest being fifteen and the oldest being twenty-nine. You should probably make sure that women in this age group don’t go out alone.”

Carson shut his tired eyes, as if the conversation was tiresome, “I’ll get on it.”

“Do you have a desk for me?”

“Yes, I’ve taken the liberty of setting you up in an office instead, your superior mentioned that you prefer to be left alone,” he pointed.

She smirked as her head tilted slightly, “Ever the thoughtful one.”

The room was silent for a few moments, when Carson finally spoke up, “You know, I remember how much trouble you used to get into around here, it’s nice to see you turned your life around; putting people behind bars instead of being behind them yourself.”

Y/N gave the older man a tight smile, feeling slightly uncomfortable at the mention of her past, “Leaving was probably the best thing I could have done.”

“I agree,” he voiced.

Eager to change the subject, Y/N looked down at her file, “Is there anyone you like for this?”

Carson sighed, “I can think of a few, and if I recall, you were close to them.”

Y/N felt her body tense, “You think the boys were responsible?”

“I would like to think they weren’t,” he admitted, “Reginald Huggins is a high school football coach, Victor Criss owns a music store, and Henry Bowers is a mechanic working out of his home.”

Y/N tilted her head in confusion, feeling her heart begin to panic in a frenzy; she kept her composure as she spoke the name that she refused to say out loud since she left, “And… Patrick Hockstetter?”

Carson wrinkled his brows as his puzzled expression came to light, “He disappeared a few years after you left. We found him months later in Reginald’s Trans Am, at the bottom of a river.”

Y/N continued to keep her expression neutral, “So, he’s dead.”

The older Chief gave her a look of sympathy when he answered her, “Yes.”

It was hard to describe the feeling she felt inside of her in this moment; she felt relief, but she also felt an overwhelming weight of sorrow. She knew she shouldn’t feel sad for him, Patrick Hockstetter was the worst person alive on the face of the Earth; he was terrible. Still, there was a time when she cared about him…

_Stop_ , she told herself, _do not go there._

“The boys sound like they’re doing ok with their lives, why would you think they’re responsible?”

“Not Reginald and Victor, I mean Henry. There is something… off about him.”

Y/N thought back to her younger days with Henry.

She was vaguely aware of the man in front of her speaking. His mouth was moving, but all she saw were red welts on soft skin, whispers in the night. The gentle touch of calloused hands on her own, making her pause from rubbing ointment on the welts that secreted small droplets of blood.

Blue eyes; blackened and bruised.

She shut her eyes tightly for a moment, and reopened them, catching the last of Carson’s everlasting monologue, “—always told Butch that his kid was trouble.”

He seemed unaware of the small flashback she just experienced, Y/N shrugged, “We all had our problems, Chief. I’m going to get set up and start canvassing.”

As she stood from her chair and walked towards the door, the Chief spoke after her, “Those boys probably don’t have anything to do with this; but even then, I don’t think it would be wise of you to go near them. Old habits die hard.”

Y/N scoffed, “I’m not the same kid I was before.”

“Maybe not,” he agreed, “But, this town and its people have a way of pulling you back into it’s cesspool, don’t let it happen to you.”

She rolled her eyes as she opened the door, “You’re right about the cesspool part, if it was up to me, I never would have come back to this dump. But, you need my help and my superiors seem to think that I’m the right person for the job. So, please refrain from giving me life advice, Chief; I got this far without it.”

“I’m just saying,” he shrugged.

Y/N shut the door behind her, heading to her office. When she opened the door, a young man in a beige coat stood inside, pacing. His large green eyes immediately met hers, and she couldn’t help but admire the sharp shape of his jawline and cheekbones, his thick, full lips spread into a smile when he saw her, “You must be that FBI agent—I’m Detective Godfrey.”

“Special Agent Y/L/N,” he held his hand out and Y/N took it, firmly shaking his hand, “Are you going to be working with me?”

“Chief wants one of his own to be kept in the loop,” he admitted.

Y/N nodded, admiring the board he set up in her office, “This your work?”

“Yeah, I was the one leading the investigation before we sent out for you,” he said, with an edge of irritation, “This is what we have so far.”

Her eyes carefully looked over the photos on the board; photos of the victims before they were kidnapped, and after, when their bodies were found. One was found stabbed to death, another burned alive, and another dismembered, “Do you have snaps of the crime scenes?”

“We do,” he answered.

“And you didn’t think to put them on here?”

She turned to meet his exasperated glare, “No.”

“Well?”

“I guess I’ll go get them,” he announced, walking out of the office.

“Hey,” she called after him. Detective Godfrey paused, and she continued, “Can you get me the files of these people?”

She pulled out a pen from her pocket and wrote down the familiar names on Detective Godfrey’s hand. His green eyes narrowed when he saw the names, “Why would you—”

“Just trying to cover my bases,” she quickly answered. He stared at her for a brief moment and then walked out of her office.

Y/N strode towards the board in the room, staring at the photos again. The board was pushed up against the large window, and her eyes trailed from the pictures to the view outside. Her eyes narrowed when she saw a strangely familiar man walking into a shop across the street.

He looked slightly more fit, and he still wore the baseball caps he used to wear when he was sixteen. She smiled to herself, recalling riding in Amy with the young, thick boy in his Metallica T-shirts.

Everything in her body told her not to go, but she really didn’t fight too hard to stop herself. And suddenly, she found herself walking across the street. The air was slightly cool as it clung to her skin, making her shiver slightly.

Slowly, she opened the door to the music shop, the jingling of the bell announcing her arrival as her boots hit the hard floor. She smiled at the young boy that sat at the cash register, quickly scanning the rows of old vinyl records and CDs that were lined up in rows until she spotted him.

The smile on her face was soft as she approached him, he didn’t look up to see her as he was immersed in searching through the vinyl section of the store, “I would have thought you’d have upgraded to CD’s just like the rest of us, Belch.”

“Vinyl sounds smoother, richer, kind of hard to beat—” he paused suddenly, his eyes slowly trailing from her feet to her face. His jaw dropped when he saw her, “What—Y/N? Y/N!”

He quickly pulled her in for a hug, squeezing her tightly and lifting her off the ground, “I can’t even believe it—” he pushed her back, holding her shoulders tight and staring at her like if she would suddenly disappear, “Wow, it’s actually you.”

Y/N gently pushed his hands off of her shoulders, chuckling softly, “Yes, it’s me.”

“Wow, what—what are you doing here? None of us ever thought you were coming back,” he said, a little too sadly.

“Mostly work,” she answered.

Belch looked down at her belt, eyeing the badge that was attached to the leather, “Oh, you’re here about—the thing.”

His facial expression changed swiftly, to a mixture of hurt and sadness. She realized why he was hurt, because he thought she came back to see them, and that was far from the case at hand. Y/N cleared her throat as she spoke, “I saw you from across the street, and I thought I’d say hi.”

He raised his brows at her as he crossed his arms across his chest, “Hi.”

Y/N suddenly felt regret coursing through her, not just for coming to speak to him, but for leaving when she was younger, “Belch, you know I had to leave.”

Belch looked down at his feet, and then he looked up at her, “Yeah, but you could have said goodbye. I can understand you not saying it to Patrick or Henry, but to shun Vic and me because you were—” he paused, shutting his eyes tightly as he tried to control his anger, “It’s in the past, I guess it shouldn’t matter anymore, huh?”

Y/N stared at him with an apologetic expression, “I really am sorry.”

Whatever anger he had was now gone, he smiled at her the way he used to, gently, “How long are you in town for?”

“As long as I need to be,” she replied.

Belch turned to skim through the vinyl records once more, “Are you going to see him?”

“See who?”

He eyed her sideways, smirking, “You know damn well who I mean.”

Y/N sighed deeply, “I don’t know.”

Belch nodded as he pulled out what he was looking for, Metallica’s _Ride the Lightning_ album, “If you do see him, don’t be surprised if he doesn’t roll out the welcome mat, Vic and I took it hard, but Henry and Patrick… they didn’t do too well when you left.”

“I heard—about Patrick, I mean,” she said softly, walking slowly alongside Belch as he strolled along the aisle.

“Probably best that the fucker died,” Belch said, unsympathetically, “He would have made life harder for everyone around him, us included.”

“I wouldn’t put it past him,” she agreed, recalling how reckless and relentless Patrick used to be, “What exactly happened, with Patrick?”

Belch sighed as he paused in the middle of the jazz section, “Look, Y/N, I know you want to know what happened to Hockstetter, but it isn’t something I really want to think about. Besides, you’re a cop or whatever, you can always look that shit up.”

“True,” she said, sighing in embarrassment. She looked up at him and met his gaze, “I should probably head back, but I really am happy to see you again.”

“Same here,” he smiled, leaning in for a hug, “Maybe we can catch up sometime, I’m living at ma’s house, so you know where to find me. I’ll bring Vic, I’m sure he’ll be dying to see you.”

“Sounds good,” she agreed.

As she began to walk out, Belch called out after her, “You really should see him.”

Y/N paused and turned to him as she stuffed her hands in her the pockets of her trench coat, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“No, but, he needs an explanation far more than Vic and I do; we were able to understand why you had to leave, he wasn’t,” Belch explained.

She sighed silently, “I’ll think about it.”

Belch nodded as she turned and walked out of the building, hearing the stupid jingle of the bell behind her. Frustrated, she lit a cigarette as she crossed the street back to the station.

Detective Godfrey stood outside the building, smoking a cigarette of his own as he stared at her, “Doing a round of questioning already?”

“Just catching up with an old friend,” she responded as she neared him.

His round green eyes stared at her cynically, “Sure. The files you wanted are on your desk, along with the rest of the records from the murder cases and the crime scene photos.”

“Good,” she stated, her eyes on the man exiting the music shop. He didn’t look up at her; he simply walked into his car and sped off.

Y/N furrowed her brows and began to wonder if maybe Belch was hiding something from her.

He obviously still had a connection to Victor Criss, and Henry Bowers, and what was it that Chief Carson said?

_Old habits die hard._

She grumbled internally, she was going to have to do something she didn’t want to do; go see Henry Bowers.


	2. Past and Present

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Angst, mentions of death(drowning), alcohol use.
> 
> A/N: I don’t really have much to say other than I hope you guys enjoy this chapter and the angst in it. Also, listen to The Unforgiven by Metallica, it fits Henry Bowers well and it's what I listened to so I could get in the mood.

**Reader**

Y/N stared at the dirt winding road that led to the two-story farm house; the Bowers home. She inhaled deeply, taking a long drag from her cigarette until there was a long, thick clump of ash in its place, she flicked the ash out of the window, smirking slightly when the light gust of wind blew some of it into Detective Godfrey’s open mouth.

“Anyone ever tell you that you smoke too much?” He asked, spitting the ash out of his mouth and into an old coffee cup.

“It’s been implied,” she answered, not looking his way, her eyes were focused on the house; remnants of her memory threatening to claw their way back to light.

She willingly used to spend her every waking hour here, when Butch wasn’t around, along with the rest of the boys; drinking, smoking, fighting.

“You know, part of an investigation is getting off of the car to question potential suspects,” he said, a tone of annoyance in his voice.

Understandable, they had been sitting in her car for over an hour, watching. Waiting.

Truth be told, Y/N felt not only nervous, but terrified at the prospect of seeing Henry Bowers again, considering what Belch told her. And if there was anything Henry was known for, well, it wasn’t for his forgiving nature.

Detective Godfrey shifted in the passenger seat, leaning his head against the window. Y/N wished that he hadn’t come with her. But, he and the local chief were insistent that he accompany her, much to her dismay. This was something she wanted to do on her own, not in the company of a local police detective; Henry would lose his shit if he saw a cop anywhere near his property, as if that wasn’t bad enough she was a fucking FBI agent; there wasn’t a doubt in her mind that this visit was going to be a disaster.

“I heard this guy was really fucking disturbed as a kid, I can only imagine what he’s like now,” Godfrey said, curiosity and intrigue in his voice.

Y/N scoffed, flicking the butt of her cigarette out of the window to the ground outside, “You should have met Hockstetter.”

“You were close to them?”

She could feel Godfreys large, bright green eyes on her, waiting for her to answer. But, before she did, she saw a tall man walk out of the house, a beer bottle in his hand. Upon closer inspection, she saw him running his muddy, free hand through his short dirty blonde hair, the mullet he sported when they were young was gone.

“That’s him,” she breathed, trying to keep her composure. Godfrey’s stare went from her to the man that was now entering the makeshift warehouse.

“Let’s go talk to him,” he said, opening the door.

“Wait,” she started, but Godfrey had already shut the door behind him. Y/N silently cursed to herself, following the tall detectives lead.

She trailed behind him, telling herself that she had no reason to be nervous. But, she had about a ton of reasons why she should be. Y/N felt nostalgia looming over walking down the familiar dirt driveway, recalling the days Henry waited for her on his porch.

“Knock, knock,” Detective Godfrey called, rapping softly in the tin wall of the warehouse, interrupting her mini flashback.

Y/N stayed behind, leaning against the steel beam beside her, doing her best to seem inconspicuous and invisible. She spotted Henry deep inside a cars guts, his eyes spotted Godfrey near him and he sneered, taking in the detective’s smooth appearance, his smooth black button up shirt, khaki pants and black loafers.

Godfrey smiled at Henry as he strode towards him, although, the smile wasn’t a gesture of friendship, “Busy?”

Henry pushed himself up from the car when Godfrey stopped a few feet from him; his oily hands leaving behind dark prints on the chrome finish of the car, “Who wants to know?”

His tone was suspicious, his eyes cold and untrusting, unwelcoming. Godfrey pulled out his badge and held it up for Henry to see. Henry smirked, reaching over to the stand a few feet from him, grabbing a filthy, old, red towel and wiping his hands on it, “What the fuck do you want?”

“Easy there,” Godfrey said, his hands up as a gesture of peace, “Just here to ask you a couple of— “

“Ah that’s what you’re here for; should have known, fucking pigs always come running to me when shit goes south in this shit town,” he alleged, walking towards the long counter in the side of the warehouse, he picked up a pack of Marlboro reds, bringing a cigarette to his lips. He sighed once he lit it and inhaled the white smoke. He exhaled the smoke into Godfrey’s face, a crude gesture from Henry; it was his way of saying _fuck you_.

His eyes went past Godfrey, admiring the 1967 Dodge Supercharger parked across the street. He eyed the detective in front of him, “Hard to believe that you would be riding in that beauty.”

“Only passenger,” he responded, motioning towards Y/N, “That power box belongs to my partner over there, Special Agent Y/L/N.”

Henry swiftly pushed Detective Godfrey aside. If he was surprised to see her, he didn’t show it; instead, his jaw clenched tightly, he took another drag from his cigarette, turning towards the cluttered steel counter to take a drink from his bottle of beer, he scoffed beneath his breath, a slight chuckle to his voice, “Fucking shit.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Detective Godfrey teased, “Do you two know each other?”

Even from where she stood, she saw Henry tense. His hands clenching and unclenching, “Watch yourself, pig, you may be the law, but that doesn’t mean I won’t drop you here.”

Detective Godfrey removed his sunglasses, moving closer to Henry’s hunched figure, “Was that a threat?”

Henry rubbed his face with his hand, smearing bits of oil onto his soft skin. He turned, coming face to face with Godfrey, “And if it was? What are you going to do about it?”

“Alright,” Y/N intervened, pulling Godfrey by his arm, “That’s enough Detective, go take a walk.”

Detective Godfrey’s tense body stiffened, she could see the muscles in his jaw clenching, and his eyes never left Henry Bowers, who continued to stand in front of him, his own stature tense and ready for a fight.

Godfrey scoffed and stomped out of the warehouse, out towards her car. She turned to Henry Bowers now, admiring him up close. He still looked the same, only a little older. His blue eyes were still hard, and they still held a sense of sadness inside of them. His dirty blonde hair was a bit long at the top, and pieces of it fell in long strands over his eyes.

His white sleeveless cut off shirt was stained with dirt and oil, the muscles in his arms rippled with tension as he still stared at the detective that was now leaning against Y/N’s car. His cold stare finally turned to meet hers, he refused to look away, and Y/N knew what he was doing; he was establishing his dominance. This was something Henry normally did to intimidate people, but, Y/N, as nervous as she was, refused to let him win.

She was not going to let him know that he had the upper hand in this one. He took one last, long huff from his cigarette, flicking it on the ground outside. He exhaled the smoke in his lungs as he spoke, “Belch said you were here; I almost didn’t believe him.”

Henry’s tone was anything but friendly, there was anger, and a bit of irritation. Y/N sighed crossing her arms, “I know I—”

“Save it, Y/N, I don’t give a fuck if you left without saying a word,” he interrupted, bringing the bottle of beer to his lips, chugging it down and tossing it on the ground where it cracked to pieces, “We obviously didn’t deserve that much.”

He stalked swiftly back towards the car he was working on, his hands quickly buried themselves inside the engine, dirtying his hands and arms even further.

“Henry—"

“Why the fuck did you even come back?” he asked, his blue eyes staring up at her while his hands continued to unscrew the pieces of a blown-out radiator.

She sighed, knowing full well that he was not going to let her apologize for not saying goodbye or telling him that she was leaving, she figured she might as well get straight down the business, “People were found dead and—”

“And your people thought Henry Bowers was somehow behind it,” he finished for her, his voice was thick with disdain. She opened her mouth to retort, but he quickly spoke again, cutting her off, “I’m gonna tell you what I told the rest of those fuckers that came here and tried to pin that shit on me; _fuck you_.”

Y/N tilted her head, “And why would they try to pin it on you?”

He chuckled, but it wasn’t out of amusement. He stopped working on the car, finally standing up straight to look her, “Are you fucking kidding me? Did you forget all the shit we did when we were younger? Or did you push that shit to the back of your head while you were off at a fucking university trying to be a good girl?”

She stiffened; memories of her suppressed past threatened to claw their way forward, she quickly shot back to distract her mind, “You still haven’t answered my question.”

Henry’s eyes darkened, his lips twisted into a soft snarl, “Because they all still think I had something to do with Hockstetter’s death.”

She tried to hide the shock she felt, silently berating herself for not studying the files on Patrick’s death further. When Detective Godfrey brought her the files, she told herself that she was foolish for asking for them. The Bowers Gang was in her past, and she shouldn’t be caught up in what happened a long time ago.

Still, she felt the need to question Bowers, granted, she wasn’t expecting a welcome party, but she also wasn’t expecting this. And now she was caught completely by surprise, which was something she absolutely despised; she was a fucking FBI agent, she wasn’t allowed to be taken by surprise. She silently cleared her throat, composing herself, “Did you?”

His hard stare never faltered as he looked at her intensely, “I was capable of a lot of things back then, Y/N. Just as you were, and just as he was. But, that doesn’t mean that I made him drive off that fucking bridge. He did that on his own,” he paused, scoffing softly, “You would have known that if you were here, but you weren’t.”

“Fucking shit, Henry,” she started, beginning to feel her own anger intensify, “What the fuck did you want me to do? Stay here? With you, and fucking Patrick?! I did what I had to do; and after—”

She paused, not wanting to bring up the darkest times of her life. Y/N closed her eyes tight, taking a deep breath to calm herself, when she opened them again, Henry was still staring at her, “I did what I had to do to survive, Henry.”

He nodded, pursing his lips together, “Yeah, including leaving me behind.”

For a brief moment, she saw the same Henry that she used to be close to all those years ago; the one that covered his sadness with anger, the boy who went through extreme amounts of physical abuse and would climb into her window late at night, trying to find a safe space to escape Butch. But it was quickly gone when he realized that the person he was talking to now, wasn’t the same person he trusted all those years ago, “Get the hell out of here, Y/N; unless you’re going to arrest me, I don’t ever want to see you again.”

“Henry—”

He turned back towards the car, refusing to look at her as he spoke, “This is what you wanted. Do what you have to do, and get the fuck out of here, I’m not going to tell you again.”

The last words he spoke to her were heavy with anger. She could have easily arrested him for threatening her, hell, she arrested people for less; but, as she looked at Henry working on the vehicle intensely, she didn’t see an angry man, she just saw the broken boy from her teens. Y/N sighed, “See you around, Bowers.”

Even as she walked away, she could feel Henry’s eyes boring into her back, still, she refused to turn, knowing that if she did she would be at his mercy. She left for a reason, she knew he and Patrick, as close as she was with them, would never understand why she had to leave.

Detective Godfrey tossed his cigarette on the ground as she approached, “Get anything out of him?”

Y/N ignored his stare, stalking over to the driver’s side of her car. Swiftly, she opened the door and climbed in, slamming the door shut behind her. Godfrey followed suit, sitting silently on the passenger’s side, watching her closely. She fumbled inside of her black trench coat for a cigarette, feeling her body relax when she inhaled, “Not yet.”

“Think he’s good for it?”

Y/N’s eyes trailed over to the man that was still working on the vehicle in his warehouse, from this distance, he looked so small; almost normal. But, she knew that somewhere inside of him, that same disturbed boy still lurked, “I’m not sure.”

Detective Godfrey stared at her with a puzzled expression; she was supposed to be sure, but right now, she honestly wasn’t sure what to make of Henry Bowers.

* * *

**The Target**

Emily Hamill walked slowly in the night trying to keep her balance. She knew she shouldn’t have gone out for drinks, she had work early the next morning. But, her recent breakup had her reeling and when she was invited out for the tenth time that week to go out for drinks with her friends, she thought, _why not?_

She lived only a few blocks from the bar, and the sidewalk was well lit. She didn’t think anything of the curfew the chief input, knowing well that she wouldn’t be taken with so many witnesses. The other bar across the street was still open, people stood outside talking loudly and the music blared from inside, making its way to the streets, slightly muffled by the walls of the building.

Her feet stumbled, and she silently cursed herself for deciding to wear heels. As she leaned against the brick wall of the building for support, she suddenly felt her stomach lurch. Without much thought, she turned into the alleyway, finding a secluded area where she began to puke loudly, the obscene amount of alcohol escaped her lips like a waterfall.

“Ugh,” she groaned, leaning against the dumpster. She closed her eyes tightly, hoping the nausea would subside so she could go home. Her eyes flew open at the sound of footsteps in the alleyway; she looked towards the lit street. No one.

Her vision blurred, she squinted in the darkness, looking out past the dumpster. And the last thing she saw was a hand reach out for her.

* * *

**Reader**

Y/N sat in a booth at the corner of the bar as she read through the confidential files. She scanned the photos, reading through the reports, trying to find a connection, any kind of connection. Something that stood out, anything.

She closed the file, frustrated with herself for feeling so distracted as she stuffed it into her backpack. Her hand reached for her half empty beer, allowing the yeasty taste to smoothly make its way into her throat, her eyes fell on the other files that peeked out from her pack.

Y/N told herself that she wouldn’t read it, that it would only hurt her. Still, she couldn’t resist and soon enough, she found herself opening the file that read _Patrick Hockstetter_. Her eyes scanned the report on his death; it was just as Carson said, he was found inside Belch’s Trans Am, which was reported stolen after Patrick took the car for a joyride and didn’t return.

It wasn’t a shock to her that Patrick’s parents took so long to report him missing; he spent most of his time outside of home, not coming back for days; and they figured he would be back in a few days. Soon, days turned to weeks, and eventually months that the tall, lanky boy and the Trans Am that Belch loved so much didn’t return.

The report was vague, and Y/N sensed that the Derry Chief didn’t make Patrick Hockstetter’s disappearance a priority, or Belch’s stolen car. She read the report further, noting that he was only found months later when a couple of kids swimming in the secluded area stumbled across it.

She stared at the photos of Patrick’s dead body; or what was left of it. She knew what happened to bodies when they were left underwater for so long, and it was understandable why his family had a hard time identifying him, the only thing they had to really solidify his identity was the fact that he was in Belch’s car and the remnants of the clothes he was wearing when he was last seen fit the description.

Y/N felt a hint of sadness creep over her; she always told herself that if she ever chose to come back, her boys would all be there, and the sad truth was that she also knew that was a lie. She knew that leaving Henry, Vic and Belch behind would hurt them, but Patrick… he was a wild card. She thought that out of all of the Bowers gang, he would be the one to adjust quickly, shrugging at the fact that she was just another piece of ass that left. But, this too, was a lie, as Patrick was extremely possessive, more so than Henry, and that if she told him she was leaving, he would simply laugh at her and say, _“No, you’re not. You are never leaving me.”_

“What kind of a person takes their work to a fucking bar?”

She looked up to see Detective Godfrey’s green eyes staring at her, amused. She hastily closed the file, setting it down on the far end of the table, opposite of the open end, “It makes for good reading.”

“At a bar,” he repeated furrowing his brows, taking a seat across from her in the booth. His dark brown hair was pushed back with an obscene amount of gel; he wore the same black dress shirt he was wearing earlier with a black coat over it.

Y/N sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration, “I couldn’t stand being in that police station.”

“Bring back too many memories of being held there?”

He smiled at her, playfully, taking a long drink from his glass of bourbon, waiting for her response. She crumpled her brows, leaning back against the hard cushioning of the booth, “How’d you know that?”

“Small town,” he shrugged, “People talk.”

“No shit,” she agreed.

“So, tell me, is it true you used to be a part of that group, the Bowers Gang?”

“Who told you that?” she asked, interest taking hold.

He stared at her, slack jawed, “Again, small town. But, if it really matters that much, it was Greta Keene. Seems like you and her have a history too.”

“Seems like she’s still a bitch,” she hissed, waving down the waitress.

“Yeah, she doesn’t like you,” Godfrey pointed, smirking, “I wonder why.”

Y/N chuckled, fidgeting with her hands under the table, “Because I kicked her ass in my sophomore year; her eyes were swollen shut and she had a broken nose.”

Godfrey whistled, his features softening, “I’d hate you too if you broke my nose.”

“She had it coming; couldn’t keep her mouth shut about shit she didn’t have any business talking about,” she said.

He caught on to the double meaning behind her words. Godfrey smirked when he spoke, “Don’t go breaking her nose now; I was the one that asked her about you.”

The waitress arrived then, her voice chirpy, and friendly as she asked Y/N what she’d like, “Another beer, and a bourbon for the Detective here.”

He looked up at the cute, red haired waitress, smiling flirtatiously at her, “For the record, my name is not detective.”

She giggled softly, going red in the cheeks and turning to retrieve their drinks. Godfrey’s stare then met Y/N’s eyes, “Seriously, though, just call me Roman.”

“Ah, well, _Roman_ ,” she said, leaning forward on the table, “Why _did_ you ask Greta about me?”

“Curiosity.”

Y/N tilted her head suspiciously, “That’s it?”

Roman finished his drink in one swig, slamming the glass down on the table when he was finished, “Pretty much; I’m not from here. So, I don’t know much about the people here or their past. And when a _beautiful_ FBI agent comes in and takes over my investigation, I get curious.”

“Beautiful?”

“Just pointing out the obvious; now, stop trying to change the subject,” he pressed.

She sighed, not wanting to get into her history with the Bowers Gang, but he continued to stare, expectantly. Y/N tried to answer his question as honestly as possible, with as little detail as possible, “We were close; Henry and I grew up together, and the rest of the guys just fell into our circle, I guess.”

Roman’s green eyes narrowed at her answer, but he didn’t press further, as he was distracted by the waitress bringing their drinks. He stared at Y/N as she opened her beer and brought it to her lips.

“So, why’d you leave?”

Y/N eyed him suspiciously, “Doing detective work on me, now?”

“No,” he answered, “We’re working together, and I hear a lot of rumors about you, figured the least I could do is go directly to the source instead of listening to gossip from jealous women who act like they’re still in high school.”

“I respect that,” Y/N said, lighting a cigarette. She inhaled and blew the smoke out, continuing her conversation only after she had a few moments to think about what he said, “Tell you what, I’ll give you one question per day, one answer per day, no more and no less.”

“Fair enough,” he said, smiling. He raised his glass, tapping it to her beer bottle, “To new partnerships.”

Y/N smirked playfully at him, “Oh partners? I thought I was your superior.”

“Ouch.”

They shared a small laugh, until Y/N’s smile disappeared at the sight of Henry Bowers sitting at the bar with a few other men, none of whom she knew in person. His eyes met hers, and he sneered before turning away. Roman followed her gaze, staring at Henry from his seat, “Heard a lot of shit about him, too.”

“Henry doesn’t have a good history here,” she said, her eyes still on the blue-eyed man as he sulked quietly in the band of men.

Roman turned his gaze to her, “From what it looks like, he doesn’t have a good history with you either.”

Y/N tore her stare away from Henry, opting for the green jewels that were Roman’s eyes. She simply shrugged, taking a long drink from her beer, not wanting to get into the mess that was Henry Bowers.

“We should keep an eye on that one,” Roman said, his tone a little darker when he shifted his gaze to Henry, “I think he knows more than he’s letting on.”

Her eyes broke free of Roman’s gaze, turning to take a peek at Henry, who was now typing a message into his phone, “Maybe.”


	3. Dead or Alive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: There is a fair amount of some gore. Angst. Language. Fighting. SLIGHT lemons, don’t get all excited now, its not smut.
> 
> A/N: So my lovelies, I made this one exceptionally long because I’m a whore for writing this fic, and I figured you could get some backstory to reader. :) Also, as the story starts out kinda intense, I inserted the read more link below the gif, so, heed the warning. Oh, and listen to Dead or Alive by Bon Jovi, to in the first part of the story, hence, the title and why the person is singing it.

**Emily Hamill**

Emily’s eyes were heavy when she tried to open them, her mouth felt strange… dry. Her legs and arms felt like lead as she tried to adjust her weight; a sharp pain in her back made her wince in her stirring sleep. She breathed in deep through her nose, wrinkling her nose at the smell of mold and musk; like she was in a damp room.

Her mind still felt fuzzy as her head throbbed from the splitting headache of a looming hangover. She had too much to drink, she guessed. She allowed herself a few moments of rest, telling herself that she needed to stay for a few moments before she had to get ready for work. Once the fuzziness subsided, she realized that she wasn’t on her warm, fuzzy bed. No, she was against something hard, something metal.

She began to feel her heart rate increase as the panic began to set in; she tried with all of her strength to open her eyes, and her panic elevated when they wouldn’t open no matter how much she struggled to pry them open. Simultaneously, a stinging pain surrounding her ankles and wrists. Emily pulled hard, feeling the burn against her skin. Now, the panic was mixed in with fear as the sudden realization hit her that she was tied down.

Emily tried to scream, but she also felt something strange keeping her lips closed. The more she tried to open them, the more intense the stinging feeling grew; from faint to severe, as if her lips would explode if she kept trying to pull them open.

Her screams were muffled, and if her eyes were open, she knew that right now she would be crying.

_Where am I? What is this?_

She asked herself these questions amidst her terror, suddenly aware that she wasn’t alone in the room when she heard the shuffling of movement. She paused, doing her best to keep silent.

Her head perked when she picked up what sounded like boots against a hardwood floor. The creaking of the weight against the boards slowly approaching her. She stayed perfectly still, thinking that if she did, maybe whatever, or whomever, was in there with her would leave her alone. Although, she knew this was foolish, as the sound of the boots paused at her side. Emily felt the presence of the person; she sensed that they were standing over her, watching her. She forced herself to keep her breathing even, and to calm her fear that was now sending her body into a panicked frenzy.

She stiffened when she felt the person’s breathing close on her face, the warmness of the breath made her cold skin quiver in horror.

Her body trembled slightly and she tried to retreat from the person’s touch, she groaned softly when she felt the slick feeling of a tongue against her skin.

It wasn’t until she heard a small chuckle that she realized the person in the room with her was a man. He lingered for a moment, still breathing heavily onto her face, until he walked away to the far end of the room. She jumped when she heard a click, and she tilted her head in confusion when she heard Bon Jovi’s _Wanted Dead or Alive_ begin to play on the radio. She was aware of the sound of shuffling, and then the faint smell of cigarette smoke filled the stale, musty air of the room.

The man began to sing along with the song, his voice matching Jon Bon Jovi’s as he sang with charisma; as the song played, she heard the clattering of what sounded like metal. She whimpered when she heard the heavy footsteps of his boots slowly approaching her, and the sound of a knife being sharpened.

Her fear elevated when he brought his face next to her, singing loudly in her face. Her lips wouldn’t open, but she screamed when she felt the cold, sharp edge of a knife drag deeply on her face; her face felt warm as drops of blood seeped out of the open wound.

“Dead or alive,” he sang into her ear, sending shivers down her spine at how eerily happy his voice sounded.

Emily knew where this was going to go. Her thoughts began to race when she came to the conclusion that she was going to die, and there was nothing she could do about it.

The last thing anyone would know about Emily Hamill, was that she was just another victim amongst the growing body count in Derry.

* * *

Y/N breathed in deeply, the smoke from her cigarette filling her lungs with nicotine, following the projected path that the woman would have taken to get home from the bar. She tapped her foot against the hard concrete ground, carefully observing her surroundings for a trace of a clue. Her stress was off the charts now that another woman had been reported missing.

She paused across the street from the bar she was at the night before; eyeing the entrance before her eyes fell on the photo of the missing woman, a young, beautiful 22 year old blonde, Emily Hamill. She was smiling, wide; her left hand underneath her jaw, showing off her beautifully manicured hands.

Roman stood beside her, his hands were on his hips as he spun around in a circle, slowly, “Funny how no one saw a thing, huh?”

Y/N nodded in agreement, taking another drag from her cigarette while she stuffed the photo inside of her black trench coat, “Bunch of useless assholes.”

His bright, green eyes scanned the area, “Are we sure she took this route home?”

“Her friends said she lives a few blocks from here,” she answered, tossing the cigarette on the ground, “Said she refused to get a ride.”

_Fucking idiot_ , she thought.

The people of Derry knew there was a curfew, and they all knew that they shouldn’t be out alone at night. Their ignorance filled her with outrage, it was almost as if everyone was oblivious to the shitstorm going on around them. Or maybe they just didn’t think it would ever happen to them, either way, they set the rules for their own safety, and it just seemed like they all willingly chose to ignore them.

She shook her head in frustration; her eyes fell on the alleyway a few feet from them. Slowly, she walked over towards the entrance, observing every inch of the area.

Her gaze fell on a puddle of dried vomit near the dumpster, flies continued to buzz around it, feeding off the bile infused mixture, “Roman?”

She heard the sound of his footsteps against the concrete as she crouched down, staring at the pile of vomit on the dark gravel of the alley, “It’s vomit, Y/N.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, shooting the tall detective a hard glance, “She went missing you dumbfuck, it would make sense why none of those idiots saw anything if she was taken from here.”

“And you’re getting all this from the vomit?”

She decided to ignore his jokes, figuring that right now wasn’t the time for them, “No,” she answered, tracing the ground for any evidence that Emily Hamill was in the alleyway the night she was taken.

Roman, taking the hint, slowly walked along Y/N as she scanned the gravelly road, “How did you meet Henry Bowers?”

Y/N’s voice contained outrage at the timing of the question, “Really? _Right now_?”

Roman shrugged, “Might as well.”

She scoffed, but she still didn’t stop herself from answering him, “Our fathers were best friends; so we were around each other a lot… until my dad died.”

“How did your dad die?” Roman asked, the curiosity in his tone clear.

“One question, one answer; that was the deal,” she said, crouching down again when she saw the glint of something shiny on the ground. She reached into her coat, pulling out a black pen from one of the pockets inside. Gently, she pushed aside the gravel in the alley, observing the silver ring on the ground with a single sapphire in the center.

She pulled out the photo of Emily Hamill, perceiving the fingers on her hand, and the small silver ring that seemed like it was too big for her finger. Y/N handed the photo to Roman, who stared at it and then down to the ring, “Well… we still need to find out where she is.”

Y/N sighed softly, slightly defeated, “She went missing two nights ago; we’re looking for a body now.”

“You don’t know that,” Roman said as she stood on her feet again. She met his gaze, skeptically as he continued, “She might still be alive.”

She tilted her head, she knew that Roman wasn’t as dense as he sounded, “We both know that’s wishful thinking.”

“So, what do we tell her parents, Y/N? _‘Oh, sorry but statistics say that if someone is missing for more than 48 hours, chances are they’re dead. You might want to go to the funeral home to pick out a coffin for your lovely daughter,’_ ” Roman spat the last words out, stomping away while he did so; the gravel crunching underneath his heavy footsteps.

Y/N groaned in frustration, “Roman, stop; you know I didn’t mean it like that.”

He turned to her, the rage still clear in his tone, “Yes, you did. Maybe this doesn’t matter to _you_ , but it matters to _me,_ and it matters to me that we continue to treat this girl like she’s still alive.”

“Roman, we know that’s not how this shit works; she was taken by a fucking serial killer—”

“You know, I don’t even know why the fucking FBI sent you,” he interrupted, his green eyes masked with rage.

Y/N, doing her best to bite her tongue, slowly retorted, “They sent me because I see the facts.”

“Oh, facts, huh? You wanna talk about facts; how about we talk about the fact that your _friend_ , Henry Bowers is responsible for this?”

Her voice was slowly growing to a shout, heads turned on the sidewalk, their faces silently judging as they witnessed two law enforcement officers bickering in an alleyway, “There is no proof linking him to these murders, Roman, you fucking know that!”

“Then we fucking find some; of course, you won’t do that just because you fucked him when you were younger–”

Y/N couldn’t control herself any longer, impulsively, she threw a left hook aimed at his jaw. Roman stuffled backwards, his lip a bloody mess, he stared up at Y/N with his wide eyes. Y/N’s breathing was heavy, and the only thought that came to mind was; _how the fuck did he know about me and Henry?_

But before she could ask, the sound of a loud motorcycle engine revving at the bar across the street caught their attention. They both turned to find Henry Bowers, perched on the seat of a red harley; his stare was one of amusement. His eyes were somewhat gentle when he met Y/N’s stare, his features softening upon looking at her with a tiny smirk.

Then, when he locked gazes with Roman, his features hardened again. His hands reached up to the cigarette on his lips, tossing it on the ground as he aggressively stomped it with the heel of his boot. He shut off his motorcycle, stepping off of it and still staring hard at Roman as he walked into the bar.

She turned to Roman, who was fuming. Y/N could see the wheels turning in his head, and before she could stop him, Roman was already stomping towards the bar, ignoring the coming cars on the road, “Roman!”

She called out to him, knowing full well that he wouldn’t listen to her. His rage was already full blown and although she didn’t know much about her partner, personally, she knew that he was easily angered.

“Roman!” She continued to call after him, trying to match his quick pace. But those fucking long legs of his made it damn near impossible for her to keep up. She finally reached him as he entered the bar, gripping his forearm, whispering hurriedly while his eyes scanned the layout of the bar, “Roman, what the fuck are you doing?”

“What you don’t want to do,” he snapped, pulling his arm out of her grip and stomping towards the end of the bar counter, where Henry sat, a line of whiskey shots in front of him. Roman stood behind Henry, watching him in anger.

Henry stared ahead, bringing a shot of whiskey to his lips, “You gonna do something or just stand there and stare, pretty boy?”

Roman’s fists clenched, he leaned forward, speaking through his teeth, “I’m going to bring you down, Bowers, I know you had something to do with Emily’s disappearance.”

Y/N watched as Henry rolled his eyes slightly, “Where’s your proof?”

“I’ll fucking find it,” Roman snarled, now leaning in close to Henry, his face inches from Henry’s.

Henry took another shot of whiskey, not even flinching at the burn, “Then shouldn’t you be doing that instead of fucking with me?,” he turned to meet Roman’s stare now, his own hard and cold, “It’s no wonder these bitches keep going missing, you fuckers can’t even do your jobs right.”

Roman quickly swung a fist at Henry, who fell off his stool, leaning against the counter of the bar. The bar quickly silenced, the only sound came from the jukebox playing Nirvana, Kurt Cobain’s lazy, gravelly voice filled the silence until Henry picked himself up. He stood up straight, wiping the blood from his lips, “About fucking time.”

Henry swung a hard fist at Roman, and soon enough, both of the grown men were throwing a barrage of fists at each other, missing and hitting. Henry pushed Roman against the wall, punching him hard on the face until Y/N came up behind him, grabbed him by his waist, and tossed him towards the bar counter. She quickly pinned his hands behind his back, pressing her feet against the backs of his knees; his face pushed up against the counter of the bar. He struggled against her, shouting obscenities at her. Y/N leaned in, whispering hurriedly in his ear, “Shut the fuck up, before you make this worse on yourself.”

“Fuck you,” he spat.

She quickly cuffed him, pressing her knee against his back, “Shut your mouth, Bowers.”

Y/N let him fall on the ground as she turned and hurried to Roman, who was leaning against the wall, holding his nose as blood rushed out. Y/N’s hands gently reached out for his, but he angrily swung them away, “Fuck off, Y/N; book his ass.”

She scoffed, reaching out to the bartender that was handing her a rag, she held it out to Roman, who took it angrily, blotting his nose with it, “I can’t book him, you started it.”

Roman tilted his head, the blood from his nose spilling down to his lips as he held the towel up in a ball, “He assaulted a police officer.”

“You were out of line, _Detective_ ,” she said, reminding him of his rank, “And you abused your power by striking him, and then asking me to arrest him.”

Roman scowled, his brows snapped together as he scrutinized her, “Are you really taking his side?”

Y/N scoffed, rubbing her forehead, “I’m not taking his side, Roman–”

“You know what? Fuck this,” he spat, pushing the towel against his nose as he stomped out of the bar.

She sighed, watching his tall frame as he stomped out towards the sidewalk. Y/N breathed in heavily, turning to face Henry’s stare. He was now sitting against the wall of the bar counter; his face contorted with fury. She slowly made her way towards Henry, his brows furrowed when she crouched in front of him, “You gonna let me go?”

Y/N nodded, helping him to his feet, gently turning him to face the bar counter. She shivered slightly at the small touch of her hands on his as she uncuffed him, “He started it; it would be wrong for me to book you when you were just defending yourself.”

Henry turned to stare directly at her, he pushed his dirty blonde hair back with his slightly bruised knuckles. For a moment, his hard gaze softened until she shot him a smirk, then the anger returned. Scoffing, he reached into his pocket, pulled out his cigarettes and brought one to his lips, lighting it with a silver zippo lighter. He inhaled deeply, speaking as wisps of smoke exited his nostrils while he spoke, “If you think this is going to get you in my good graces, you’re wrong.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, “I’m just trying to do the right thing.”

“Oh, now you’re trying to do the right thing,” he spat, inhaling the smoke of his cigarette deeply, “You’re about a decade too late.”

He didn’t give Y/N a chance to respond, stomping away the same way Roman did. She stupidly stood there, watching as he climbed on his motorcycle, revving it aggressively before he finally drove off.

She stood there, awkwardly, for a few moments, feeling the eyes of the other bar patrons on her. She briskly lit a cigarette, fuming as she stormed out of the bar towards her Supercharger while she fumbled in her coat for a cigarette, lighting it as she slammed the door shut behind her. Y/N, inhaled the smoke deeply; she knew she had to make it right with Roman, she knew it. But, she also knew that he had gone too far in openly attacking Henry.

Y/N also knew that she had to try to clear Henry’s name, just so Roman could stop hounding him. Still, there was a part of her that believed Roman.

She sighed, turning the keys in the ignition, making her way towards the station. She figured Roman wanted to be left alone right now, so she wanted to give him some time to calm himself; and then maybe, she could go and try to make things right with him.

Her mind was a jumbled mess of stress and frustration as she entered the station that she almost ignored Greta calling to her, “I’m sorry, Special Agent Y//L/N; you’ve got a package.”

Y/N raised a brow as Greta handed her a brown box, “No return address?”

Greta shrugged, “No, I don’t think so.”

She looked down at the package, staring at the typed letters of her name and the address of the Derry Police Department. She stuffed the package under her arm, walking swiftly towards her office when she turned, “Oh and Greta, the next time you open your mouth and tell Roman anymore of my business, I’ll do more than break your nose.”

Greta’s eyes went round, her jaw dropped open and she stuttered as she tried to explain herself, “I– I just–”

But Y/N didn’t care to listen to her, turning swiftly as she continued on towards her office. She slammed the door shut behind her, tossing the light package onto the desk as she walked towards the window of her office, staring at the world outside.

Her mind was still reeling from the interaction at the bar, and the alley. But mostly, her mind was on Henry, and the way he looked at her when she had uncuffed him. There was still a hint of the old Henry in there, she knew it.

She also knew that he was still angry, and it would take a lot for him to forgive her, or even consider the thought of forgiving her. The thoughts of Henry Bowers led her into a sense of nostalgia once more; she felt the tendrils of a memory pulling at her… night time; a smooth, cool breeze blowing in through her open window, the sound of her grandmothers wind chimes gently clashing against each other in the wind, and a pair of gentle blue eyes looking up at her from the floor, the look on his eyes soft, pleading, and tender. His hands reaching up to gently graze the tips of her fingers…

Y/N quickly shook her head, breathing deeply as she tried to chase the memory from her mind. She squeezed her eyes shut, telling herself not to think about those memories, breathing heavily while she spoke softly to herself, suddenly recalling Carson’s words, “…this town and its people have a way of pulling you back into it’s cesspool…”

She laughed softly to herself, whispering softly, “I’m not being pulled back, I’m fine.”

Her fingers reached for another cigarette, lighting quickly and taking long drags to calm her nerves; once her heart rate slowed down, and her breathing steadied, she turned, staring at the box on her desk.

rapidly, she made her way towards the large, wooden desk; grabbing the package and her backpack of files from her desk, opting to do some work in her hotel room. Frustrated, she stalked towards the exit, rushing out as she anxiously unlocked the door to her car, tossing the package onto the passenger seat. Her foot hit the pedal hard, feeling the stress of the day’s events taking a toll on her once again.

Her mind was on autopilot as she drove, barely registering the fact that she arrived at her hotel. Mechanically, she grasped her belongings, pushing the door of her car shut behind her. Her mind felt foggy when she pressed the key of her room into the lock; as she closed the door and locked it, she tossed her items onto the small table next to the window.

She dragged herself towards her bed, grasping the bottle of pills that lay on the nightstand next to her bed. Sluggishly, she swallowed the prescribed amount; chasing it with a bottle of water that she left just in case.

Her head hit the pillow, her eyes staring at the ceiling while she practiced her breathing exercises, and slowly, she drifted off, allowing the darkness of sleep to engulf her, wrapping her in a protective cocoon of silence.

* * *

_Soft fingers pressed against hers, a gentle smile of the boy with the blonde hair looking up at her made her feel at ease, which was a rare occurrence. To feel at ease, to feel calm, it was a rarity; only when she was with Henry Bowers, she felt at home._

_He brought her hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss against the dried bloody knuckles that were the product of yet another fight. Slowly, the kisses on her skin elevated towards her arm, and then he sat up, pulling himself towards her; pressing kisses on her shoulder, and then on her neck as he slowly climbed onto her messy bed with her that was still covered in the mess that she and Patrick made earlier._

_She felt a strange feeling in her chest, as Henry’s lips pressed softly against the bite marks that Patrick made a few hours earlier._

_He paused, bringing his fingers to gently caress the violent markings on her body bestowed on her by Patrick. His eyes met hers, caring and soft, another rare occurrence for Henry, unless he was with her, “I hate when he does this to you.”_

_Y/N shrugged nonchalantly, “I don’t mind it; I belong to him, it’s fitting.”_

_Henry’s eyes darkened at her words, “You don’t belong to anyone, Y/N; least of all to that fucker.”_

_She tilted her head, her eyes going dark as he dared to go against the rules that Patrick set, just as she was about to snap at him, he pressed his lips hard against hers. She would be lying if she said she was surprised, but, she noticed the lingering looks Henry gave her when Patrick wasn’t watching. The slight curve of his lips when on rare occasions, he got to be alone with her. She would also be a liar if she said she hadn’t thought about Henry in that way as well, however, she belonged to Patrick._

_Reluctantly, she pulled away from Henry; the strange feeling in her chest and stomach made her feel panicked, but, comfortable at the same time. Breathlessly, he whispered to her, pressing his forehead against hers, “I shouldn’t have done that.”_

_Y/N, feeling her impulsive nature take over, smirked, “You shouldn’t have, but don’t stop now that you’ve started.”_

_He didn’t need anything more than that. Hungrily, he pressed his lips against hers once again, and she reciprocated the gesture, gripping the ends of his dirty blonde mullet…_

* * *

Y/N sat up immediately, the pounding on her door startling her. She quickly reached under her pillow, gripping the Glock .23 tightly as she pulled it out. Her heart rate quickened when she rushed towards the window. She peeked through the curtain, sighing when she saw who it was. Placing her gun in her holster, she sluggishly opened the door while she rubbed the sleep from her eyes, “You fucking scared the shit out of me,” she paused, eyeing the tall man in front of her that held an intense expression on his face, his lips pursed together in a tight line. Y/N sensed he was slightly disturbed, she leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms across her chest, “What is it, Roman?”

His large green eyes gave her a once over, his bottom lip swelled slightly where the tiny cut from his fight with Henry resided, “I need to show you something.”

Roman pushed his way inside; Y/N scoffed at the gesture, “Well come on in.”

She shut the door behind her, watching as he observed her danky hotel room. His eyes fell on the pill bottles scattered on the water damaged surface of the nightstand; she quickly shuffled towards it, shoving the orange bottles into the drawer. Y/N turned to meet his stare, slowly, she started, “Listen, about earlier—I just wanted to say I’m sorry—”

Roman smirked, furrowing his brows as he stared at the stained carpeted floor, “I was being an idiot. I shouldn’t have done what I did,” he paused, his eyes looking up to meet her gaze, gleaming, “I’m glad you played it by the book.”

Y/N rubbed her shoulders, smiling shyly at him. Their eyes locked for a moment and he quickly looked away, “But that’s not why I’m here; I’m here because of this.”

He held out the medium sized box that he held underneath his arm. Y/N crinkled her brows, slowly walking towards him, observing that it looked similar to the one that she received earlier. She observed the typed letters on the label addressed to Roman Godfrey, “Did you open it?”

He nodded, slowly pulling the flaps open. Y/N peeked inside the box, her eyes widening at the large, gruesome, piece of skin that was inside. Feeling the turning in her stomach, she quickly made her way towards the small table, picking up her own box.

Roman narrowed his eyes when he saw that she had a similar one, “What the—”

Y/N promptly pulled out the switchblade she had inside of her pocket, cutting through the packaging. She opened the flaps, knowing full well that she would find something similar to what Roman’s package held. She pulled the wrappings out of the box, tossing them on the ground; slowly she read the message that was typed onto a small piece of paper, I see you.

Her eyes slowly trailed to the contents in the box, feeling her stomach slightly lurch when she saw a pair of blue eyes inside of a tight, vacuum sealed Ziploc bag staring up at her.

Roman muttered something next to her, staring at the note that she gripped tightly in her hands, “What do you think that means?”

Y/N slowly looked up at her partners vivid eyes, she knew exactly what the note meant. The murderer was taunting them with the eyes of who she was sure belonged to Emily Hamill; she was also sure that the eyes were a message to _her_ , directly. The thought horrified her, but her voice was steady when she spoke, “It means, that we’re being watched.”


	4. Close Without Closure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Language, alcohol use, mentions of medication, angst, mentions of murder. I honestly don’t know why I bother with the warnings; you all know what this is lol.
> 
> A/N: Made this one a long chapter cause I wanted to, and I couldn’t stop writing. But, long chapters are legit. I also hope you all like the character I added in here btw. He needs more love.

Y/N stood beside Roman, biting on her nails, and old habit she had when she couldn’t smoke. She and Roman stood back, allowing the lab technicians to examine the piece of mail that Roman got; it was obvious what it was once they both put it together… a face.

And if they were right, which Roman hoped they weren’t, it was Emily Hamills face, and eyes, that were delivered to them.

Roman exhaled, leaning against a counter in the lab, “Do you really think it’s her?”

Y/N knew what he wanted her to say; he wanted her to lie to him. She allowed herself to glance at the tall man, his lips were slightly puffed out as he waited for her response. She wouldn’t lie to him, but she also knew she wanted assurance, “I hope it isn’t.”

But she knew it the moment she glanced down at the eyes nestled inside the box; they were too late, and Emily Hamill was dead.

“Apparently, there weren’t any fingerprints; except ours, the postman’s, Greta’s,” he whispered, trying not to be a distraction to the forensics team, “Looks like our killer is very careful.”

“Much to our dismay,” she agreed, taking a sip of her black coffee. She hadn’t gotten much sleep last night after Roman left her dingy hotel room with piss stained carpets; her mind viciously tried to carry her into old memories and nostalgia, but, she threw herself into her work instead, pleading silently with her mind to let her sleep, silently whispering to herself that she wasn’t in the past anymore.

However, it wasn’t that simple. She liked to think she had her condition under control; but being here, in Derry, it seemed to her that she was very wrong. Her mind had a way of creeping up on her and planting seeds of her past that she tried to destroy.

“Special Agent Y/N,” the lab technician called, pulling her out of her thoughts. Y/N and Roman made their way to the lead forensics investigator; he shimmied aside to let them view the face that was in a sort of water tank, “I wish it wasn’t her, but after cross referencing it with some of her DNA from her apartment, it’s safe to say that this is Emily Hamill.”

Y/N’s face remained stoic as she received the news, her eyes wandered over to Roman, who was staring at the face with wide, angry eyes, “Is there any way to know if someone would survive this?”

The lab technician, whose name tag read Hanlon, stared at Roman in a skeptical manner. Upon closer inspection, Y/N realized where she recognized him from; he was part of the Losers, Mike Hanlon. He furrowed his brow, his features were patient though as he calmly explained, “With proper care, and assuming the victim hasn’t gone into shock, which is impossible, maybe. But, assuming the shock didn’t kill her, she still wouldn’t have much time left; infection could set in. Either way, I don’t’ think your killer would have wanted to take her to the E.R.”

“So that’s it? She’s dead?” Roman asked, the tone of anger starting to amplify in his voice. Y/N gripped his lower arm tightly, to remind him to control himself.

“Detective,” the technician, Hanlon started as he removed his goggles, “You are aware of the of the rule of the first 48 hours, aren’t you? You’re not looking for her alive, especially considering what your killer sent you,” he paused, taking in Roman’s expression and then, meeting Y/N’s gaze. He smirked softly, recognizing her before he continued, “I also managed to pick up something from the eyelids.”

Roman, with his hands still placed on his hips, turned and stared at the wall, trying to take in the information while he calmed himself. Y/N observed the face in the tank as Mike spoke, “She had traces of Cyanoacrylate on her lids.”

Mike pointed towards the lining of her eyelids, prompting Y/N to squint so she could get a better look, “Your killer glued her eyelids shut, though, I can’t see why—”

“He likes to torture them; she would be in a more panicked state if she couldn’t see where she was,” she paused, staring at the face in front of her, images of the girl crying and being tortured entered her mind, “Were you able to get anything else off the… “

She motioned towards the face; Mike coughed softly, his chocolate brown eyes suddenly uncomfortable, “I’m afraid not, there really wasn’t much to go on. Like I said, whoever is doing this, they’re careful.”

Y/N met Roman’s distraught gaze, his large green eyes burned with fury, “He’s going to slip up, eventually.”

“Thank you for the help, Mike,” Y/N said, trying to make her voice sound as gentle as possible; thinking about the young boy that Henry spent countless hours of his day, along with his friends, tormenting. The man, no longer an outcast boy, smiled reassuringly at her.

“Lets us know if you find anything else, Hanlon,” Roman ordered, stomping out of the room. Y/N followed him, chugging down the last of her coffee before tossing the foam cup into the wastebasket near the door.

Once they were alone in the hall, Roman paused, sighing as he rubbed his angelic face. Y/N couldn’t help but stare at him as his facial features experienced a variety of emotions, “We’ll catch the person doing this, Roman.”

“Yeah,” he said, leaning against the cream-colored wall. Instinctively, he reached for his pack of cigarettes, groaning in frustration when he couldn’t find his lighter. Y/N pulled out her zippo, flicking the wheel, offering him a light. He sighed in relief, bringing his cigarette to Y/N’s hands, puffing softly as the tip of the cigarette lit in a soft glow of orange. He exhaled deeply, a cloud of smoke escaping from his lips, “I just—I don’t want to believe she’s dead.”

Y/N leaned on the wall opposite of him, observing him further; curiosity overtaking her, “Why?”

Roman shrugged, his green eyes weren’t hard or cruel, they were… melancholic. His stare went to his feet, a small lock of his brown hair fell over his face, “So many girls have died already; in the most fucked up ways imaginable. Would have been worth it to save at least one.”

“We can’t save them all, Roman,” she said, crossing her arms.

His eyes finally met hers as he inhaled a drag from his cigarette, “So, what, we just let them all get taken and die? We haven’t really been doing much to look for her, Y/N.”

“There wasn’t much to go on,” Y/N argued, feeling her stress levels pick up. She paused, taking deep breaths, trying to calm herself.

Her eyes met Roman’s worried gaze, “You ok?”

“I’m fine, Roman,” she assured, somewhat thrown off by the tenderness in his voice. His eyes were kind when he stared at her, almost sympathetic, “We—I’ll try harder, I’m usually on top of my game, but…”

Roman held out his cigarette for her, Y/N smirked at him, taking it from his long fingers. As she took a drag of the menthol cigarette, Roman spoke softly to her, “I saw the bottles on your nightstand… is— are you alright?”

“Is this your question of the day?”

“Not really,” he admitted, “Truth be told, I’m a little worried about you.”

“You don’t even know me, Roman,” she scoffed, smirking slightly at his interest.

Roman pushed himself off against the wall, placing his hands in his pockets as he carefully walked towards her. He stood a forearms length from her, his chest was even with her eyes, “I don’t, but you’re my partner; and call me crazy, but I am a little concerned about you.”

Y/N raised her brow in suspicion, “Worried I can’t do my job?”

He scoffed, chuckling softly, “I know you’re capable of doing your job; I’ve seen your resume. No, I’m worried about you… as a person.”

That was a surprise; she felt her cheeks beginning to flush at the thought that maybe he was genuinely worried about her.

His green eyes stayed locked on her, and she cleared her throat as she fumbled for something to say, “I’ll— I’ll be fine, Roman. Nothing I can’t handle.”

“Special Agent Y/N?”

Roman and Y/N both looked up at the voice that called to her, Greta stared at the both in intrigue; no doubt coming to her own conclusions about what was going on in the silent, near empty hall, “There’s someone here to see you.”

“Who is it?”

Greta smirked as she popped her gum in her mouth, “Victor Criss.”

Y/Ns eyes widened at the name. She cleared her throat and did her best to keep a calm demeanor as she answered, “I’ll be right there.”

Greta stole a last glance at them before finally turning and heading towards the front of the station. Y/N glanced at Roman, who was staring at her with vague surprise, “Isn’t Victor Criss a known associate of Henry Bowers?”

“They were— or are, I don’t know— friends,” she answered, tossing the cigarette onto the ground, putting it out with the heel of her boot.

“Do you want me to stay back?”

Y/N wanted to say no, but she thought about the last time he was around Henry. And although Victor was nothing like Henry, she had no doubt that Roman would be just as hot headed around Victor as he would be with Henry, “I think that would be best.”

“Alright,” he said, without much pushback, “Is there anything you need me to do?”

“Try to get access into Emily’s apartment; see if there’s anything we missed,” she ordered, running a hand through her hair.

“I don’t think her parents will let us in again,” Roman frowned, leaning back against the wall.

“They will if you said we found a lead; which isn’t technically a lie. Comb over the place while I handle this,” she said as she sauntered away, the heels of her boots clapping loudly on the linoleum floor.

“I’ll meet you there, if you get finished with this guy early,” he called after her.

She smirked at the playful tone in his voice. Still, she felt strange at the softness and compassion he showed her. There wasn’t much she knew about the detective, other than that he wasn’t from here. She started to feel bad that he had taken an interest in her, and she hadn’t even bothered to ask him where he was from.

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat when she saw the silvery blonde head of a familiar man sitting on one of the chairs in front of Greta’s desk. Greta went on and on about god knows what, as he politely nodded, a scowl on his face, not caring to mask his annoyance, “You still have that resting bitch face.”

Vic looked up at Y/N, his brown eyes steady and stable as he glanced upon her and retorted, “And you’re still just a bitch.”

She smiled softly at him, and he returned the gesture while getting to his feet, “Belch told me you were in town, but your bitch ass never even bothered to call me.”

He pulled her in for a tight hug, squeezing her firmly in his still skinny, yet strong arms that were scattered with various small tattoos. She squeezed him back, inhaling the scent of designer cologne on his green military style jacket, “I’ve been a little busy.”

Vic allowed her to pull away, gently playing with the loose strands of her Y/H/C hair, “I heard; Belch said you were FBI or whatever.”

Y/N nodded, admiring the man in front of her. The last time she saw him was years ago, obviously, and his regal features were still there; sharp cheekbones, defined jawline. Point being, the son of a bitch still looked like an angel. Still, she knew better than to consider Vic to be angelic, just because he looked like one, didn’t mean he was one. If anything, Vic was just as twisted as Henry, maybe not to his or Hockstetter’s extent, but Vic was not as calmly maintained as Belch.

“Yeah, I was assigned here to help with— well you know,” she said, not really wanting to get into the specifics as to why she was there. She knew that if he spoke to Belch, that Vic was caught up on why she was there.

“FBI… wow; never pegged you for law enforcement,” he started, observing her, “But, whatever works.”

Y/N sensed that the topic made him uncomfortable, and she quickly motioned for him to follow her outside. The prying eyes of Greta Keene made her wary as the gossip queen hung over their conversation like she was desperate to hear what Victor Criss had to say to her.

“Heard you own a music store,” she said as Vic leaned against the hood of a silver Mercedes.

Vic nodded, crossing his arms over his chest, “I do; my parents paid for my college, got my degree in business management and opened up a music shop here. Figured why the hell not?”

“What brought you back after college? Figured you’d want to stay away after you left.”

He smirked, “It’s home; you leave… but you’re never really gone. Just like you.”

“That’s different,” she defensively spoke.

“Relax, Y/N; no one’s trying to fight with you,” he smirked, catching on to her tone, “But, doesn’t change the fact that you’re here.”

Y/N tilted her head, “You sound just like Henry.”

“Who do you think dealt with him when you left? He always used to say that shit to us, _‘she’ll be back’_ ,” he paused, reaching into his expensive blue skinny jeans to pull out a vape pen. He took a quick puff, and the smell of strawberries and cream filled the air as he exhaled a cloud of vapor, “We never believed him, but, yet, here you are.”

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t need to be,” she said harshly. She regretted her words after she spoke them, catching the quick, fleeting emotion of hurt on Vic’s face, “I mean—there was—”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Y/N, all that shit’s in the past. I get it,” Vic reassured, giving her a dazzling, bright smile, “Hey, why don’t you come to my place tonight? I’m having a little get together, it’d be nice if you were there.”

“Oh, I don’t know Vic, I have—”

“C’mon, it would be great to have you around. We can catch up, properly,” he pressed, “Belch is going to be there. As well as a few other people that we all… _tolerated_.”

Y/N thought about it for a moment, thinking about who the hell they tolerated in their times at school. Still hesitant about fraternizing with her old group of friends, she sighed, thinking about one person in particular, “Will Henry be there?”

“Doubtful,” Vic answered, rolling his eyes, “That fucker rarely wants to leave that damn house of his.”

She tried her best to hide her disappointment, though she wasn’t sure why. A part of her wanted Henry to be there, so maybe she could explain everything to him. But, her years of therapy told her that it wouldn’t be a great idea; Henry was still pissed at her, and Roman had him on his list of suspects. It would be wrong of her to spend time with him.

But, if he wasn’t going to be there, then there really was no harm in her going to spend some time with the less crazy half of the Bowers Gang, “Fuck it, I’ll try to make an appearance.”

“Great,” Vic beamed, practically jumping from his spot, “And do me a favor; get some fucking rest, you look like shit. And _don’t think_ you’re going to show up dressed like _that_.”

Y/N looked down at her black button up blouse, her grey slacks and her ankle length boots, “What’s wrong with this?”

Vic made his way towards the driver’s side of his car; his silver white hair blowing in the slight breeze of the Derry wind, making him look like some kind of royal angel. He leaned over the door once it was swung open, staring straight at her, “Everything.”

He flashed her a quick smile, slamming the door shut behind him and giving her a slight wave as he drove off. Y/N stared at the receding car for a few moments; she hadn’t gotten sleep, and the coffee was helping her stay awake, but now that Vic mentioned it, she felt extremely exhausted.

She glanced down at her phone, noting that it was just a little past the afternoon. As much as she would have liked to go to her lonely hotel room and get to sleep, she also had work to do. _Sleep could wait_ , she thought, as she lazily entered her car, driving slowly down the main road in town. Within moments, she had arrived at the building where Emily’s apartment was.

Y/N noted Roman’s car was already parked along the curb, and she languidly made her way into the building; her feet dragged as she climbed every step and she silently cursed herself, wishing she’d gotten some rest instead.

The door to Emily Hamill’s apartment was ajar, figuring that Roman was already inside, she let herself in, careful not to touch the doorknob with her hands. Upon entering the large studio apartment, she was immediately overwhelmed with the scent of pine and sandalwood, “Roman?”

“In here,” he called, his voice echoing from the open bathroom door.

Y/N’s eyes scanned the large open area; photos of Emily Hamill with a few friends, family members and some of herself were set on the nightstand, on the counter, on the windowsills. She couldn’t help but admire how loved she was, that much was obvious upon the numerous people that were in the photos with her, of course, photos could be deceiving.

The bedsheets were still in a jumbled mess from the last time she slept in it, there was a half-eaten waffle on a plate next to the nightstand, now growing mold on it. Her shoes, high heels and flats alike, were tossed near her bed, along with various shirts and dresses; no doubt the work of a woman that was concerned with what she was going to wear the night she went missing.

“Find anything?” she called out to Roman, rubbing her eyes.

“Nothing,” he answered, his voice thick with exasperation.

Y/N reached for the box of gloves on top of the nightstand; she pulled them on and got to work on searching, for something, _anything_ that might give them a clue as to who took her. They couldn’t save Emily Hamill, that much was obvious when they realized who the eyes and skin belonged to, but maybe she could find the person who did this to her and put them away for life.

She took a deep breath, shaking away the exhaustion and overwhelming stress, anxiety and frustration in her body. Her brows wrinkled as her mind cleared and all that was left was the need to search for answers, her mind focused on her surroundings, taking in every single detail, every item in the room and how it was organized.

Her hands pulled open the nightstand drawer; she observed the items inside, slowly taking in the pens without their caps, loose paper clips, and a journal. Y/N felt silly, she shouldn’t feel guilty about grabbing the journal in her hands, flipping it over as she admired the smooth teal leather bound book.

She unclasped it, her eyes skimming the entries of the life of a dead woman. Her brows furrowed at how sad and lonely the words on the page seemed; “ _surrounded by a sea of people, and I’m still alone_.”

As she read on, the entries became more and more darker as she struggled with finding a balance in her life; it was like a broken girl trying so hard to make herself seem well put together. She was so engrossed in the life of Emily Hamill that she didn’t notice Roman’s footsteps coming towards her, “What do you have there?”

Y/N jumped in surprise, slowly exhaling, “Oh, a journal. Seems like Emily wasn’t as chipper as everyone thought she was.”

“You think our killer knew this?” he asked, craning his neck to look at the journal.

Y/N shrugged, getting to her feet and handing Roman the teal leather-bound book, “I don’t know; but, I wouldn’t cross it out.”

She observed the light green eyes that scanned the entries in the journal, impulsively, she found herself asking a question before she could stop herself, “Where are you from, Roman?”

Roman glanced at her, pausing from reading the journal for a moment, “Pennsylvania; Derry P.D. requested me after my track record back home.”

“And you just… left?”

He shrugged his broad shoulders, his bottom lip quivered softly as he read a rather intriguing entry, “Yeah, not like anything was keeping me home; I was always alone, figured might as well be alone somewhere no one knew me.”

“So, you were trying to start over,” she concluded, placing her hands on her hips.

“I guess you could say so,” he answered, his eyes flying up to meet hers while his hands gently closed the journal shut, “Now, it’s my turn to ask my question of the day.”

“Fair,” she chuckled.

“What’s with the medications?”

Y/N felt her facial expression freeze. Truth be told, she should have been expecting it; especially after what he saw last night and the conversation they had earlier. She sighed, the prospect of opening up to a stranger was frightening, the only comfort she had was the fact that she had done so before when she spoke to her therapist, “I have some—there are things—”

Roman’s curious expression softened upon seeing her struggle with speaking about it. He tossed the journal onto the table, taking two long strides over to Y/N, gently grasped her shoulders, “Hey, you don’t need to answer my question. It was stupid of me to ask, I’m sorry.”

Y/N felt her body begin to tremble, but surprisingly, his touch was comforting. She allowed herself to gaze into his eyes that held her stare, speaking volumes without really saying anything. Slowly, she nodded, exhaling as she calmed herself.

His hands lazily trailed to her face, “Y/N, have you slept?”

“No,” she answered, her voice thick with exhaustion.

“Get some rest, Y/N,” he gently ordered, as his hands cupped her face in his hands; his green eyes that she admired many times before were suddenly all she could focus on right now, and she silently noted how their color was that of dew grass that was freshly watered. It was a nice green, a calm green. She felt the urge to get lost in them forever; but as it happened, his soft voice called her from her overwhelming exhaustion, “I can handle this.”

“Alright,” she nodded, pulling the gloves off of her hands, “Make sure to bag the journal for evidence, and if you need—”

“Contrary to what you might think, Y/N, I do know how to do my job,” he teased, gently allowing her to slip out of his touch, “But, if I do happen to find something of importance, I will call you.”

Y/N smiled meekly at him, she awkwardly waved a lazy goodbye at him as she made her way out of the apartment, back down the stairs and out into the Derry air that was now cool and overcast. Her feet dragged as she slowly made her way towards her car, slightly debating if she should smoke, opting that she would rather not go through the trouble right now as she turned the ignition and drove the short distance to her crappy hotel room.

Once she was inside her room, she tossed herself on her bed, pushing the files and crime scene photos aside, allowing her eyes to drop close on their own accord. 

* * *

_She rolled over on her stomach to take a better glance at the boy next to her. Henry’s blue eyes were closed, his breathing was even, and his fingers traced little patterns on her bare back. Y/N admired him, the way his face, that was normally contorted in anger was now peaceful. She felt a flutter in her stomach when she looked at him, something she never felt with Patrick, “You know he will kill us if he finds out.”_

_Henry chuckled, his blue eyes opened slightly to take a glimpse at her beautiful naked form. The fact that they hadn’t been caught yet or managed to keep up this whole relationship a secret from Patrick was stunning, if not surprising. Patrick was as sly as he was cunning, regardless of what everyone thought of him, he was a lot more intelligent than he let on._

_The thought of what Patrick might do to Henry frightened her, Henry could take care of himself, that much was obvious… but, Patrick was sneaky; relentless and at times, much crueler than Henry was._

_“He can try; I’ll fuck him up,” Henry said confidently, almost possessively as he pulled Y/N in closer to him, wrapping his legs around her._

_The prospect of Henry being there to protect her from Patrick was heartwarming, she snuggled up against him, allowing herself to feel something other than the darkness of madness that Patrick lived in, dragging her along with him. The maniacal laughter of lunacy from what she and him did earlier was still fresh in her mind, and at the time, it was exhilarating, but right now as she laid in the arms of someone that_ truly _adored her, she began to feel… ugly._

_“He won’t hurt you, Y/N, not while I’m here, he knows better than that,” Henry assured, feeling her fear begin to overtake her._

_“It’s not me I’m worried about,” she whispered, pressing a soft kiss on his neck._

_“You saying I can’t kick his ass?” Henry asked, his pride suddenly taking over and making him feel like less of a man._

_Y/N rolled her eyes as she sat up to glance down at him, his baby blue eyes were cold when she looked down at him, “That’s not what I’m saying Henry, and you know it. You know how… unhinged Patrick is.”_

_“And you’re not?”_

_“That’s besides the—” she scoffed, suddenly frustrated at the conversation they were having. She felt the urge to hurt something rise inside of her and she longed for Patrick now. It was true, though, she was unhinged as much as Patrick was. He reveled in it, embraced it; while she tried to fight it, and it was only when she was with Henry that she tried to undo the lunacy that Patrick encouraged._

_“I’m sorry,” Henry whispered, sitting up beside her, the bedsheets falling to his waist, exposing the hard muscles in his abdomen. He placed his arms around her shoulders, kissing the back of her neck softly, making sure to be gentle as Patrick’s bite marks still healed, “I shouldn’t have said that.”_

_“It’s alright,” she answered, stiffly, “Don’t worry about it.”_

_He felt her body go slack in his arms, and she could tell that he was now in a panic that he upset her. His kisses began to get fervent, and his breathing was heavy with fear, “I love you.”_

_Y/N turned to meet his stare; it was desperate, pleading, and… genuine. She felt her heart skip a beat as she tried to process what he just said to her._

Love?

What the hell was that?

_She loved Patrick, but that was different. It wasn’t the way it was with Henry, pure and sweet._ Did _she love Henry?_

_Upon looking into his stunning blue eyes, eyes that held sorrow and rage all the time were now showing weakness and vulnerability in front of her; she wasn’t sure if it was love. She had never experienced it, but, maybe this strange feeling at the pit of her stomach was love, “I—”_

_“You don’t have to say it back,” he interrupted, “I know it’s weird to hear, especially coming from me; its fucking weird to say it, but it’s true.”_

_Y/N could not tear her gaze away from him; the psychotics that Patrick encouraged in her was melting away at the thought that Henry loved her, she threw herself into his arms, allowing him to squeeze her tightly, “I love you too, Henry.”_

_She allowed herself to feel this strange, if not wonderful, feeling that was both new and alien to her, ignoring the fleeting shadow outside of her window, and the glimmer of silver jewelry before it disappeared._

* * *

A cigarette lay limply between her lips as she stared at the large two-story house with a wrap-around porch, trimmed hedges and perfectly maintained lawn and trees.

Victor Criss seemed to have done well for himself, that and the fact that he came from a wealthy family helped his chances of succeeding in life. She scanned the curb and the driveway, taking note that Henry’s motorcycle wasn’t there. She breathed in relief to herself, not knowing how she would deal with him if he was there.

She inhaled the smolder of her cigarette, feeling slightly refreshed after catching up on much needed hours of sleep. Roman, it seemed, found nothing else in Emily Hamill’s apartment, prompting her to have a free night; and finding herself parked on the darkest curb of the upscale neighborhood.

Her dream, or memory, about Henry left her a little uneasy. It wasn’t often that she had them, but, then again, being back in Derry seemed to have a very negative effect on her mind, making her recall memories she’d long since forgotten, or ignored, to be truthful.

She reached into her glove box, pulling out a small bottle of Jack Daniels and chugging it all in one go to calm her nerves. She looked down at her fingers, her stainless-steel rings covering the tiny tattoos she imprinted on them long ago, the tiny _H_ and _P_ slightly peeking out from beneath them.

“Fuck it,” she said to herself, opening the door to her car as her heeled boots made a clicking sound on the pavement. She adjusted her leather jacket as she stomped up the steps to Vic’s porch, tossing the cigarette on the nicely kept lawn, the vague sound of music playing inside. 

Her hands came up to knock on the door, and within seconds, Belch stood in the doorway, beaming at her, “Hey Y/N! Glad you could make it.”

Belch’s arms reached out and pulled her into a tight bear hug, “Come on in, there’s a couple of people here.”

“I can see that,” she observed as she entered the obnoxiously large house. To her left, a small group of people, men and women, sat in the large, luxurious living area. The scene made her slightly uncomfortable as she took note of some of the familiar faces, Greta was there, which made her somewhat irritated. She saw the bitch at work enough, she didn’t want to see her outside of work.

She vaguely remembered the rest of them, deeming them unworthy of her attention. Not to mention, trying to remember every single one of them would only end up on another bout of nostalgia that she really didn’t want to deal with right now. It was bad enough that she was dealing with them right now, she didn’t need to go digging for it on her own.

The large open walkway to her right led to the kitchen area, where she found Vic prepping a few drinks, “Hey.”

Vic’s brown eyes looked up at her, and a small smirk crossed his lips as she took a sip of one of the drinks, “Holy shit; I’m surprised you’re not wearing that damn trench coat.”

“Someone had a fucking problem with it,” she answered, leaning against the counter in front of him, “What’s the get together for?”

“Just time to catch up with friends,” he answered, pouring four shots of whiskey, “Figured I might as well take advantage since you’re here; don’t know when we’ll see you again.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing,” he said, planting a smile on his face as his eyes fell on the doorway and _Intergalactic_ by the _Beastie Boys_ began to play in the background, “Hey, Henry.”

Y/N felt her eyes widen, and her body stiffen. She turned, as smoothly and slowly as possible, taking in the tall man that lounged beside Belch, leaning against the archway; he wore a dark blue button up shirt, light faded blue jeans that were worn out and washed way too many times paired up with a replica of the same boots he used to wear when they were younger.

Henry’s cold blue eyes stayed focused on Y/N as he took in her appearance. Scowling, his gaze flashed over to Vic when he spoke, “You didn’t say she was going to be here.”

“You never show up,” Vic retorted, holding out one of the whiskey shot glasses to him. Reluctantly, Henry made his way towards the island, grabbing hold of the shot glass as he stood beside Vic and taking the shot down in a gulp, barely flinching while he continued to stare at her.

Belch came up beside her, watching the obvious tension the room as Henry and Y/N continued to lock eyes. Vic cleared his throat, handing Belch a shot, another to Y/N and kept one to himself while he refilled Henry’s shot glass to the rim.

Vic lifted his glass and spoke, “To friends; may they always be here when you need them.”

“And not sneak off in the middle of the night,” Henry added, not bothering to mask his anger.

Y/N gulped her shot quickly, slamming the glass hard on the counter, “And not be complete bitches when you do.”

Henry’s brows furrowed as he scoffed, “Vic, why the fuck is she here?”

“Because I invited her,” Vic answered nonchalantly, refilling the shot glasses again.

“ _Why_?” Henry asked as he took the glass and filled down the whiskey once more, growling slightly.

“We want her here, Henry,” Belch chimed in, his calm demeanor now gone as he rolled his eyes in irritation, “Or have you forgotten that?”

Belch was now the target of Henry’s rage; he clenched his hands into fists, leaning over the hard marble counter, “No, I haven’t forgotten, Belch.”

He took down his last shot, snatching the bottle from Vic and wandered off around the house. They all stared after him as Vic started, “He’ll come around.”

“You said he wasn’t going to be here,” Y/N alleged, a hint of accusation to her voice. The slight smile to Vic’s lips made her believe that he had this planned all along.

“He wasn’t,” he said, grabbing the drinks from the counter, nodding at Belch to help him, “But, people tend to change their minds; besides, maybe you can take the time to talk to him.”

“You know he won’t understand,” she mumbled.

“He’s not Hockstetter, Y/N; you’d be surprised how far a simple apology can take you,” Belch chimed in again, his voice soft and reassuring.

Y/N turned, the sounds of their retreating footsteps somewhat masked by the music still playing in the background. She sulked alone for a few moments in the kitchen, pouring herself a large glass of another bottle of whiskey that was set on the counter.

She told herself, again and again since she’s returned, even before she returned, not to get sucked back into the life she used to live, not to be the person she was.

_I don’t need to be, Patrick is gone_ , she thought to herself.

“Fuck,” she whispered to herself. She knew Belch was right; Henry wasn’t Patrick. There was a chance he could be forgiving towards her, if she explained why she left… and that, in truth, he always lingered in the back of her mind, even after she suppressed the memories of this place and the people in it.

She exhaled loudly, suddenly in the need for some fresh air. She made her way towards the large, glass doors that led to the back patio, vaguely taking note of the group of people laughing in the sitting area of Vic’s home; smiling softly as she heard Belch’s energetic filled voice talking loudly.

The door closed softly behind her; her hands pulled her pack of cigarettes from the pocket of her jacket. She set her glass of whiskey on the wooden rail of the deck while she searched for her lighter, groaning when she realized she left it in her car.

Y/N exhaled, tilting her head back. Her peripherals caught sight of movement to her left; she turned and glanced at Henry’s figure, sitting on top of the rail, one of his legs lazily hanging over the edge while his back was pressed against the frame of the house. He was staring at her, his expression blank as he observed her.

“Do you got a light?” She asked, flicking her cigarette between her fingers.

Henry brought his own cigarette to his lips, shifting his body as he pulled out a lighter from his pockets, flicking the tiny wheel. A tiny flame came to light, and Y/N grabbed her drink, walking over to him, allowing him to light her cigarette for her. She puffed on the stick, watching as it flowed to light, inhaling, she spoke, “Thanks.”

He grunted in response. Y/N took another drag, staring off into the distance; the large trees that scattered on Vic’s backyard rustled softly as the cool air blew through the leaves. The moon showered his yard in a beautiful, silvery glow, illuminating the grass in an eerily pleasing radiance.

She felt shivers down her spine, as if someone was watching her. Instinctively, she turned to find Henry still watching her, “Why are you staring at me?”

He didn’t answer right away, instead, he took a drink from the bottle of whiskey, simultaneously he took a drag from his cigarette, “Are you really just here to find who’s doing this shit?”

“That’s the gist of it,” she answered, trying to be as gentle, but honest as possible.

“And then, what? You just fucking leave again?”

Y/N sighed, taking a large gulp from her drink. She banged it down on the wooden rail, spinning to face Henry directly now. Y/N tilted her head in response to his obviously aggressive question, “You know something? I’m getting real tired of this shit, I heard it from Belch; Vic was being a passive asshole about it, and I don’t need to hear from you, again, about how bad I fucked up by leaving.”

“Patrick’s dead because of it,” he retorted, taking a shot of whiskey.

“Yeah, and that’s fucking terrible, but don’t you fucking sit there and try to make me feel bad about Patrick dying when you and I both know that you didn’t give a _flying fuck_ about him,” she spat, her body trembling with rage, guilt and defiance; she took a drag from her cigarette, exhaling as she continued, “If anything, you and him weren’t exactly the best of friends, if I recall.”

“We didn’t have to be,” he seethed, jumping down from his place on the rail, stalking slowly towards her, “But we both lost something that mattered to us; we all did.”

“I had to leave, Henry! This place was destroying _me_!”

“Was I fucking destroying you?!” He asked, his voice a shout now; he didn’t even bother to mask the hurt and fury in his voice.

She shut her eyes tightly in disbelief, what she saw in front of her was a broken man; the shadow of a boy who loved her, deeply, slowly clawed his way forward, and she saw the same boy who cried to her when his mother left, wondering what he did wrong.

“Henry…”

She reached out to touch him, and he pulled away, “Don’t, Y/N.”

Y/N stood still for a moment, allowing Henry to collect himself as he tried to hold back the tears in his eyes, “Did I do something _wrong_ , Y/N?”

His baby blue eyes locked on hers, watery and vulnerable, “ _Was_ it me?”

Y/N felt her heart shatter to a million pieces as she stared at the man in front of her, “No… No, it was never you, Henry. I— I left because— because I was turning into something I didn’t want to be. You— “she paused, trying her best to collect her thoughts and carefully choose her words, “Patrick was leading me down a dark road. I had to get out before I destroyed myself— and the people around me.”

“You sold me out, so you can save yourself; you have a good life now, don’t you? Something to look forward to?”

Y/N chucked, grabbing her glass and taking a large gulp as she thought about the number of medications she had to take, the weekly phone therapy sessions, the years of psychological repair she had to go through, “If you can call it that.”

Henry, paying close attention to Y/N, seemed to have caught on to the meaning in her words, but he didn’t pursue it any further. Instead, he took a long drag from his cigarette, tossing the butt onto Vic’s yard. She noticed the slight bruising on his jaw from his fight with Roman, and she felt terrible about it.

“I’m sorry, by the way, about what Roman did,” she murmured, still gazing at him.

Henry smirked, “He hits like a bitch; I’ve taken worse punches from you.”

Y/N returned his gesture with her own smile; both sharing a small laugh together. His smile faded slowly, as he reached in towards her, slowly. She took a few steps back, her ass hitting the rail softly. Henry leaned forwards, her breathing began to get shaky as she felt his hot breath on the skin of her face. He slowly reached out, his eyes were intense as his hand gripped the glass on the rail and he brought it forwards, finishing off the small amount of whiskey that was left in the glass, refilling it with the bottle he snatched.

He stood a half arms-length from her, holding the glass in front of him, slowly holding it out towards her. She gingerly brought her hand up, accidentally brushing his hand. She saw as his eyes trailed down to her ringed hand, he tilted his head, trying to get a better look at her fingers.

Y/N felt a slight state of shock when he grasped her hand, his fingers slid her ring down, observing the small _H_ on her ring finger, “I thought you would have gotten this removed.”

Y/Ns eyes trailed down to the small tattoo, “I— I was supposed to. But, it didn’t feel right.”

Henry’s bottom lip quivered in response. He gently let her hand fall from his grasp, undoing the bandana that he kept tied around his wrist. Y/N felt her heart flutter upon staring at the slightly faded ink on his skin with her name on it. Her eyes widened upon staring at it, “When?”

“Shortly after you left,” he answered, “I didn’t want to forget you.”

Her heart fluttered at his words, her breathing hitched in her lungs, and she was filled with an overwhelming urge to be held in his arms once again. She looked up at him, his eyes weren’t angry the way they had been since she arrived; he stared at her tenderly, the way he used to when they were younger. She found herself softly grazing his hands with her fingers, pulling herself into him. Just as she was about to give in to her temptation, the phone in her pocket began to vibrate violently, “Shit.”

She reached into her pocket, pulling out her phone and quickly reading the text message from Roman.

**11:01 PM: I found something in Emily Hamills diary, I think you need to see it. Meet me at the station.**

She looked up at Henry, who was now lighting a cigarette, “I’m sorry, but, I have to go.”

“Work?”

“Yeah,” she nodded, still holding her phone in her hand.

Y/N half expected Henry to stiffen in anger, instead, he smirked softly at her, “You don’t need my permission to leave, Y/N.”

Ignoring the hidden meaning in his words, she typed in a quick reply to Roman.

**11:02 PM: Be there soon, get some coffee ready.**

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled, trying to ignore Henry’s stare.

“It’s fine.”

Y/N awkwardly stood there for a few moments, gazing at Henry. She nodded softly, pursing her lips before finally turning to leave. As she retreated, however, she paused, whirling to meet Henry’s stare, “Are we— are you still angry at me?”

He scoffed in response, leaning against the railing, “I stopped being angry the moment I saw you again, Y/N. We’re good. I’ll tell the guys you had work.”

She smiled in response, feeling her cheeks flush as he stared flirtatiously at her, a small smirk creeping onto his lips while he smoked his cigarette.

Y/N turned, feeling the magnetism between her and Henry grow with every step she took away from him. She wished she didn’t have to go, but, she reminded herself that she had a job to do; that was the only reason she came back in the first place.

Still, that didn’t stop her from feeling a huge weight being lifted on her shoulders, and the familiar feeling she felt all those years ago when Henry Bowers first kissed her.

It was a good feeling, and a feeling she knew she shouldn’t allow herself to indulge in, not when women were dying, and as much as she hated to say it, not while he was still considered to be a suspect.


	5. Disarm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The inspiration for this chapter comes from the song Disarm by The Smashing Pumpkins. Also, I hope you like the PoV I added.

Y/N yawned tiredly when she entered the station late at night. Her legs dragged behind her as she pulled herself towards the back of the station towards her office. Upon entering the room, she noticed Roman standing in front of the board, rubbing his chin as he examined to photos and reports.

“Hey,” she called to him, strolling over to have a look.

Roman’s eyes quickly tore away from the board and fell on her; his brows scrunching together upon taking in her appearance, “Nice outfit.”

Y/N chuckled softly, looking down at her choice of clothing, a black leather jacket, black skinny jeans and low cut white shirt that she wore to Vic’s party, which was nothing like her normal slacks and trench coat, “Thanks.”

“Were you busy?” he asked, raising his brows slightly.

“I was out with some friends,” she replied easily, tossing off her jacket and placing it over her leather chair, opting to keep the specifics of her whereabouts to herself, feeling that Roman wouldn’t take too kindly to her choice of company. Tousling her hair, she made her way towards Roman who took a cup of coffee from her desk and offered it wordlessly. Y/N took a sip, cringing at the taste, “Wow, that’s pretty sweet.”

“Sorry,” he chuckled, a tint of red covering his cheeks, “I wasn’t sure how you’d like it.”

“I normally take it with one sugar, and a bit of creamer,” she said, suddenly realizing that she sounded ungrateful. Roman was thoughtful enough to make her a cup of coffee and here she was, passively complaining about an act of kindness. She sipped the sugary contents of the cup again, smacking her lips quietly as she adjusted to the outrageously sweet liquid in her mouth and nodded when she tasted a hint of french vanilla. “But, this isn’t too bad, actually, thank you.”

Roman smiled airily at her, pleased with the compliment. His jewel green eyes locked on her for a moment, as if he was lost in thought. Y/N cleared her throat, pulling him out of his daze, “You said you had something to show me?”

“Oh,” he started, shaking his head nimbly, the deep brown locks of hair falling from place and brushing over his forehead. He gently pushed them back as he reached for the teal, leather bound book that was Emily Hamill’s diary. Y/N walked towards him, watching as he opened the book and, with the help of a post-it he placed inside, found the page he was looking for, “So, I decided to go through this after I was getting nowhere with the lab techs. I tried to see if there were any other clues they might have picked up from the… contents were sent. Anyways, look at this,” he shared, pointing to a passage in the diary.

Y/N leaned in towards Roman, craning her head to get a better look at the sentences he was pointing at, she skimmed over most of it, pausing when she read something interesting. She read it again, aloud this time, to better make sense of it, “‘ _…feels like someone is watching me, maybe I’m just being paranoid. But, I swear I thought I heard someone’s footsteps following me when I was walking home from the bar last night._ ’”

Her eyes met Roman’s intense stare, he prompted her to keep going, and Y/N continued to read aloud, her voice filling the silence in the office, “‘ _…was so drunk last night and I bumped into someone in the middle of the sidewalk. Good thing he wasn’t a creep or anything and he was nice enough to help me up from the ground. He even offered to walk me home, which was so nice of him considering the shit that’s been going on lately. I wish I could have remembered what he looked like, or bothered to get his number,’_ ” Y/N paused for a moment, her eyes widening as a revelation came to mind, “She met him. I think he had already chosen her at this point.”

“But… it seems a little… sloppy,” Roman pointed out, furrowing his brows at the perp’s motivations, “Why go through the trouble of confrontation, knowing that she could have easily spoken about him to any of her friends and possibly given up his identification?”

He was right, but, she saw it in the beginning with their culprit, and her voice was a little above a whisper as she began to articulate, “The thing about this person—this man, he’s psychotic; they’re the type to linger close to a crime scene to admire their handiwork.”

Roman nodded agreeably, adding his own analysis to hers, “He likes to play with them.”

Y/N exhaled deeply, trying her best to see the pattern. Emily Hamill was constantly around her friends, yet, she felt alone. Isolated. On the outside, everything seemed ok, on the inside, there was a deep disturbance that wasn’t voiced, “It’s like he knows they’re lonely.”

“Well, you did say he watches his targets,” Roman reminded her, shutting the diary closed and placing it gently back on Y/N’s desk. He sighed deeply, leaning against the edge of the desk as he rubbed the back of his neck, “If only we knew what kind of girl he targets; he doesn’t seem to have a pattern. Or a type for that matter.”

“They all have a type,” Y/N noted, her eyes falling onto the cluttered board, “Whether he knows it or not, our killer left us everything we need, it’s just a matter digging beneath the surface. And for some odd reason, I’m just _not seeing_ it,” she sighed hopelessly, defeated.

This case was beginning to take a toll on her. She prided herself on being the best Special Agent in the FBI; she caught killers, she busted trafficking rings, all because she could see things that everyone else missed. What seemed like a simple item to a detective was a tip pointing her in the right direction towards finding what she needed to catch who she was looking for.

But this case seemed… _off_. The idea of it being in Derry bothered her, and the fact that she wasn’t performing her job as well as she should have been was making her feel like she wasn’t as great as she thought she was.

Roman swallowed hard behind her, Y/N turned to find him fiddling with his thumbs as he softly claimed with a fond look, “You haven’t seen it… _yet_ ; look, we’ll find it. _You’ll_ find it, I know you will. You’re a great agent, one of the best, from what I’ve read.”

Y/N’s heart fluttered at his kind words. His eyes were fixed on her as his hands smoothly rubbed his face, “I’m sorry, I just—”

“It’s fine,” Y/N whispered appreciatively, feeling at a loss for words. She was used to hearing that she was good at her work, but somehow, hearing it from Roman made something stir inside of her. Clearing her throat, she pushed a lock of her hair behind her ear as she managed to croak out, “I—thank you.”

Roman smiled kindly at her, a small dimple indenting the right side of his cheek when he did so. His face, which she had seen contorted with anger so many times before, was gentle when he laid eyes on her. It had been the past few days, and even when she first met him, he seemed to be genuinely interested in her, which she thought was shocking. What was even more astonishing, however, was that she was starting to feel those same feelings of interest towards him, admittedly.

It shouldn’t have been surprising, however, Roman was extremely attractive; with his large jewel green eyes, his full, thick lips, high cheekbones and a full head of dark brown hair that was always perfectly coiffed; the bruising from his brawl with Henry even gave him a somewhat gruff appearance. She normally wouldn’t have paid much attention to someone’s physical appearance, but it was hard to overlook how handsome he was. Especially, considering how considerate he had been as of late. The tender side of him had piqued her interest in him, and it was difficult not to take notice on how good looking he really was now.

“Is there anything else you needed to show me?” Y/N questioned, coughing as she tried her hardest to tear her gaze away from the man in front of her.

Roman, who was also staring back at her, shook his head as he lazily pushed himself off her desk and made his way towards her, “There are a couple more entries in the journal; but, they don’t necessarily mention the man she met anymore.”

“Nothing that would give us a clue to who we’re looking for?”

He exhaled deeply, pausing in front of her, rubbing his hands together before he decided to place them into the pockets of his black slacks, “I’ll keep looking, see if I can put something together—”

“You know what? I’ll take the journal with me,” Y/N offered. Roman’s brows furrowed at the suggestion, prompting her to further explain in a slew of words, “It’s just— you’ve been doing most of the work lately, and I haven’t really been on top of my shit. I’ve been laying all this shit on you—”

“Y/N, you don’t have to explain anything to me,” he consoled, flashing her a softhearted smile, “You’re going through some stuff, and I’m not sure if I want to prod or waste my question per day on trying to figure it out. All I know is that, if you ever need me, I’ll be here. We’re in this together.”

The silence that followed seemed to last years, even though it was literally only a few seconds. The sound of the old central air unit leaking water somewhere in the building seemed to be the only noise to fill the air, aside from Y/N’s heavy breathing when Roman leaned in slightly. Y/N’s eyes stared at the full lips that pouted slightly, but, instead of feeling them pressed against hers, he paused and turned, his hands reaching for the journal that belonged to Emily Hamill, his voice was above a whisper when he spoke again, his eyes on the book, “I marked some things I thought were worth looking at.”

Roman handed the leather-bound journal to Y/N, his hands momentarily grazing hers when he pressed it into her hold, “Thank you, Roman.”

He nodded steadily in response, “If you need anything at all, just call me or text me. I’ll head on over right away.”

“Isn’t anyone going to be missing you if you’re sneaking off in the middle of the night to work?”

Roman barked a laugh, he rolled his eyes when he answered, a smile still on his cheeks as he licked his lips, “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

Y/N tilted her head in confusion, surely, a good-looking man like Roman couldn’t have been single, women would have clawed each other’s eyes out to be with him, she knew she would. Pushing those thoughts from her mind, she curiously asked, “Why not?”

He shrugged nonchalantly, leaning against the desk once again as he pulled out a cigarette and placed it between his lips. The thick lock of brown hair slipped loose from the rest of his styled hair once again as he lit it, making him grunt in frustration as he pushed it back in place, “I haven’t found anyone worth my time.”

“You make it seem like you’re above everyone,” she said in a disapproving tone, leaning against the door.

“I’m not, I just… I don’t like to have my time wasted.”

“I understand,” she agreed, recalling her own dating history. She didn’t necessarily have the best track record when it came to relationships. She quickly shook those thoughts of her teen years from her mind, refusing to think about Patrick Hockstetter who was now a corpse, a memory.

“I guess we have _another_ thing in common,” he grinned, taking a long drag from his cigarette, “But, hey, who’s counting?”

He continued to smile at her, flirtatiously. Y/N felt her cheeks redden again, her eyes fell to her feet and she felt ridiculously stupid for feeling bashful as she tried to speak through her tongue tied lips, “I— I uh, should get going now, Roman.”

“I’ll walk you out,” he offered, refusing to hear her objections. He crossed over to the door, opening it for her and allowing her to walk through first.

The walk towards her car was silent, she sensed Roman tense up beside her, as if he wanted to ask her a question but thought better of it. Y/N herself was feeling the tightness build inside of her; a longing to ask him more personal questions, however, she thought it would be unfair to ask him such things, especially after she put a rule on him about when and what he could ask about her own personal life.

Once they exited the building into the cool night air, Y/N turned to him, awkwardly running her hand through her hair, before she could speak, however, Roman blurted, “You look really beautiful by the way; you always do but, I like this look on you.”

“Thank you,” she blushed, smiling shyly, “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

“Of course,” he scoffed, rolling his eyes playfully. As she was about to turn and head towards her car, Roman recklessly leaned in for a hug, breathing in her scent as he squeezed her tightly in his arms, to which she reciprocated, somewhat confused. He chuckled awkwardly, “Sorry, I just—if it isn’t appropriate—”

“It’s alright, you give nice hugs,” she interrupted, containing a smile while she pulled away from him. His eyes were on her as she walked towards her car, the heels of her boots clapped against the concrete and gravel. As she unlocked her door, she gazed up towards Roman, who was now making his way inside the building, “By the way…”

Roman paused, turning to face her as his hand still gripped the door handle. She leaned over the driver’s door as she continued, “You can ask me anything you’d like, whenever you’d like.”

His brows furrowed, but a small smile crept on his lips, “Alright, so, how about dinner tomorrow?”

Y/N bit her bottom lip in nervousness. It had been awhile since she went out with anyone, and she wasn’t sure if she was up for it. Still, upon gazing into those hopeful, large, jewel green eyes, she had her answer, “Sure, not what I meant about asking me anything, but I guess it counts as a question.”

Roman smirked confidently at her, waving at her as she entered her car and turned on the ignition. She waved at him one last time, smiling like an idiot while she pulled out of the parking lot.

It was strange that she would start feeling these emotions at the most inconvenient of times, women were going missing, and the people of her past still lingered in her life. She tried not to let herself get too carried away with any notions of what might happen between her and Roman, it was only a dinner date, after all. He could always change his mind once he found out about her past.

Still, something told her that Roman was not the type of person to scare easily.

_Just a date, and we’ll see where it goes,_ she told herself.

But, dating wasn’t her strong suit. She had many failed relationships through the course of her college years and most of her adult life; Patrick Hockstetter and Henry Bowers seemed to linger in the back of her mind no matter who she was with, and that was something that deterred her from ever building a connection with anyone.

This was different, however. Patrick was dead, and Henry, although he admitted he still cared about her, was in her past as well. He was a suspect in the murders, and there was no way they would ever make it work without the ghost of Patrick Hockstetter lingering in her mind.

It would never happen.

Patrick, even in his grave, made sure of it.

* * *

**Henry Bowers**

Henry still reeled from his conversation hours ago with Y/N. From the moment he heard that she returned, he told, no… he promised himself that he would not let her get away with what she had done so easily. She caused him years of pain, agony and despair; the only girl he loved had left without a word, and his anger festered deep inside of him as more and more time passed without her there.

He consistently told anyone that would listen; Belch, Vic, and even Patrick that she would come back, there was no way she would just get up and leave. But, he knew he was lying to himself. She was his saving grace, although she never fully belonged to him. In his mind, though, she did. Y/N was his, and he was hers. He knew she loved him more than she loved Patrick; he took better care of her than Hockstetter did.

Apparently, though, that wasn’t enough. She couldn’t even say good bye or give him a warning.

Slowly, the sorrow and craving to see her again turned to wrath as time passed on and he remained alone, growing without her by his side. Unlike Hockstetter, who fucked every girl that crossed his path, Henry refused to touch anyone else. And when he did, he told himself that he didn’t love Y/N anymore, that he didn’t miss her. Of course, Hockstetter never let him forget about her, and it wasn’t like he actively tried to. 

But, when she returned, and as a fucking FBI agent to question him about his “involvement” in the murders happening in piece of shit Derry, it took everything in him to stay furious at her, because the sight of her walking towards him, even after all those years, still made his heart flutter and his knees weak. It was difficult to stay angry with her when she pulled him in with her smile; in all honesty, she really didn’t have to do much to get back into his good graces. Still, that didn’t mean he was going to make it easy for her. At least, that’s what he told himself.

He inhaled the smoke of his cigarette deeply, ignoring the loud laughter echoing from inside of Vic’s sitting area. When Y/N left, he refused to go in and fraternize with Vic and Belch’s guests, telling himself that they had it covered as he stared off into the distance, imagining how things would have been if she had never left in the first place.

Patrick would have destroyed her, she was right about that.

But, Henry wasn’t Patrick, he would have protected her. He _could_ have protected her; he proved that time and time again with her.

His phone vibrated loudly and violently in his pocket, but he ignored it, telling himself that whomever was trying to contact him could wait as he threw his head back, taking a large swig of whiskey straight from the bottle.

She was close to kissing him, he felt the attraction hit them like two rocks colliding when they shared a moment of sincerity between them, and he felt the crushing sensation of heartbreak when she had to go.

Henry shouldn’t be feeling what he felt, he shouldn’t be thinking what he thought, it wasn’t right. But, the urge to be with her overpowered every other emotion he was feeling; it consumed his thoughts and it drove him insane that she was so close, and he _still_ couldn’t have her.

_You don’t need my permission_ , he recalled telling her through his slight buzz.

“I don’t need permission,” he mumbled to himself, trying to assure himself that what he wanted to do wasn’t wrong, that it was right.

He slid off the wooden rail of Vic’s balcony, making his way towards the door and peeking in through the glass windows; he couldn’t see what was going on, but he could hear Belch’s loud voice telling the guests a story of the gang’s younger days. Henry smirked fondly, recalling the memory he spoke of.

It was one of his favorite memories, one that he held on to affectionately. It was the night that the gang broke into Greta Keene’s house and trashed her bedroom, all because Y/N hated the bitch. Hockstetter, Belch and Vic raided the house to see what would be valuable that they could sell, while he and Y/N were alone in Greta’s room. He recalled the way she felt when he was inside of her, the faces she made and the moans she tried to conceal so Patrick wouldn’t find out.

_They can handle it_ , he reminded himself, crushing the cigarette butt beneath the heel of his boot. He still felt the slight buzz cloud his mind, and he knew he shouldn’t do what he was about to do. But if there was anything he was done doing, it was waiting.

Henry Bowers never waited for anyone or anything, if he wanted something, he went out and got it.

It didn’t matter if it would fuck everything up; he would toss everything aside if it meant that he would be with her again.

Without a second thought, he strolled towards his motorcycle with long strides, swiftly jumping over it while he hastily turned the key, the loud engine roaring to life filled the night air with a rumbling sound. From the corner of his eye, he saw a head of blonde hair emerge from inside the house. He turned, flipping off Vic as he ran out of his house to stop him from driving away. But it was too late, Henry was down the road before the blonde bitch could catch up to him and stop him.

No one would stop him this time.

* * *

**Reader**

Y/N sighed once more, rubbing her eyes and groaning upon realizing that she smeared her makeup. She grunted in carelessness. Not like anyone was going to come see her this late at night, “Fuck it.”

Her tired eyes scanned the contents of Emily’s journal, taking note of the marked notes that Roman placed for her, adding her own as the reading continued late into the night.

The coffee that Roman made for her earlier was now sitting cold on her nightstand, substituted for a glass of straight vodka to help ease her nerves. It wasn’t the best idea, she shouldn’t be mixing alcohol with her medication, but, these days, she needed something stronger than her meds to get through the days. Alcohol seemed to do the trick just fine, like it used to in her younger days.

She yawned loudly, propping herself up from her bed, standing on the dirty carpet as she stretched. She sighed in relief as her bones cracked, emitting a satisfying sound in her ears. Y/N set her glass down on the old, water damaged night stand as she walked around the motel room, reading Emily Hamill’s journal in her tired hands; the files of the previous murders were scattered over her bed, photos of dead bodies and medical examiners reports lay like a mosaic painting in place of the hotel sheets.

“Emily Hamill,” she whispered to herself upon reading yet another entry of the woman’s journal, trying to pick apart any small detail she could about the man that she saw, “Who took you?”

Frustrated at not getting further with the journal, she scribbled one last note on the yellow post-it and stuck it next to the last line she left off at before tossing the leather-bound book onto her bed to join the rest of the files of dead women. _Another name to add to the pile._

She folded her arms behind her head, clasping her fingers together as her thoughts wandered off.

_Emily Hamill._

Young. Beautiful. Described as friendly and lively by her friends, but her diary told a different story. She spent most of her time drinking alcohol, partying. Her friends even described her as somewhat of a troublemaker.

But, it wasn’t her looks that attracted their killer to her; that much was obvious upon the range of women that he chose; blondes, brunettes, redheads, caucasian, african american, hispanic. He didn’t have a type.

Only, one thing that Y/N always stuck by was that _every single_ killer had a type.

She shut her eyes tight, pacing back and forth in the room in a calm serenity, ignoring the people in the next room arguing over fuck knows what.

Sasha Wilson was burned alive, her body barely identifiable, the only way to get a proper ID was through her dental records.

Jenica Torrez was found on the side of the road, bloated and greying with water in her lungs, giving light to the fact that she was drowned and then tossed on the road to be found.

Emily Hamill had her face cut off. God knows if that’s what killed her. She wouldn’t doubt that soon enough, they would find her body in a ditch somewhere.

Her eyes flew open upon the realization; there _was_ a pattern. It was there all along.

He _wanted_ his victims to be found.

But… _why?_

The only time serial killers intentionally leave bodies out in the open is if they’re trying to instill a message. The message would be clear upon discovering what type of women he was after, and then a motive would come after. However, their man was tricky.

_What message is he trying to get through?_

Her thoughts went back to the eyeballs that their killer sent to her, and the note. He was trying to shake them up, show them that he knew what they were doing, taunting them.

He liked to play with his victims, it seemed… and he also liked to play with the investigators working his case.

“Fuck,” she groaned, rubbing the bridge of her nose as she felt her irritation growing further. She reached for her glass of vodka, taking a long gulp to calm her nerves. Her eyes fell on the photos of the known victims, all of them smiling, right beside the photos of their dead bodies, “I’m going to find you. I swear, I’m going to find you.”

Y/N turned towards the counter where the old box TV was propped, reaching for her bottle of vodka and pouring herself another glass to refill the one she just finished when she heard a soft knock on her door.

Her brows creased as she glimpsed at her phone, it was 2:38 AM. There was no text from Roman, so it couldn’t have been him, he would have texted her beforehand.

Y/N gently settled her glass of vodka on the counter next to the box tv, carefully she sprinted on her tiptoes towards the bed, reaching for the Glock that was nestled underneath her pillow. She held it firmly in her grip, breathing heavily while she glanced at the door, “Who is it?”

Nothing. 

Another gentle knock, and Y/N carefully unlocked the door; her pulse beat loud in her ears, her body tensed, ready to confront the possible killer at her door. She turned the musty, silver door knob, opening the door a crack. Her brows knitted upon realizing who was at her door, “Henry?”

His eyes were wild and somewhat droopy from the obvious alcohol consumption, his hair was disheveled from riding his motorcycle in the cool Derry night air without a helmet. He glanced down at her hand still gripping her Glock, “Expecting someone?”

Y/N followed his stare and loosened her grip on her gun, “No, that’s why I have it.”

Henry nodded nonchalantly, leaning against the door frame. Y/N reached over to place the gun on the table that sat a few feet from the door, near the A/C and windows “How’d you know where I was staying?”

“Small town, you drive a fully restored muscle car,” he countered, as if the answer should be obvious.

Y/N slanted her head, doubt overtaking her tired features, “And my room?”

Henry licked his lips, placing his arm against the door frame and leaning his head on it. Y/N couldn’t contain the stirring feelings inside of her upon staring at him standing in front of her. His dark blue long sleeve was still perfectly pressed, the sleeves rolled up to show off his muscled arms forearms, “I know the receptionist in front.”

“You _know_ him?” she asked, not believing the prospect of someone giving Henry any information unless they were threatened.

“Yeah,” he disclosed, still wholly relaxed.

Y/N sighed in defeat, not wanting to get into an argument with Henry, not after they finally got things settled between them. She stared at her feet, refusing to make eye contact with him while she suggested, “You should be heading home, Henry.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Henry,” she began, crossing her arms as she met his gaze, “You operated a motorcycle while drunk, you’re not wearing a helmet and I’m sure you _threatened_ the boy in front to give you my room number, besides, I have work to do. Whatever it is can wait.”

She moved to shut the door, but his hand quickly caught it, slightly resisting, “I waited years for you to come back, I’m done waiting.”

Y/N glanced at him, meeting his stare. The previous droopiness was gone as his demeanor changed, his gaze penetrating her. She began to feel churning emotions inside of her the longer she stared at him standing in her doorway. The longer she stared at him, the more unbearable the throbbing between her legs became. She needed to get rid of him, she needed to resist the urge to feel him inside of her, “I don’t think it would be appropriate.”

“Since when do you worry about shit being appropriate?”

Y/N remained silent, her stare fell from his eyes and down to her feet. Henry sighed, continuing, “If you’re sure this isn’t want you want, I’ll go. But we both know you were ready to kiss me at Vic’s house. You’re not fooling anyone, not even yourself.”

Henry turned on his heel, lighting a cigarette as he walked towards his motorcycle. Y/N tore her gaze from her feet and allowed herself a peek at the man that was now climbing on his bike.

_Don’t let him go_ , she told herself.

He pushed the key into the ignition, turning to so the engine roared to life making the windows in her hotel room rattle slightly.

_Go to him._

_Don’t go to him, it would be wrong. It’s wrong. He’s a suspect._

He revved the motorcycle once, signaling his impending departure. She couldn’t describe what madness drove her to it. All she knew, was that one moment she was in her hotel room, and the next, her bare feet were clapping on the ground, sending cold shivers up her heel to her calf. Unaware of what was going on, Henry looked up in bewilderment as Y/N’s hands grasped his jaw and pressed her lips hard against his.

His perplexity only lasted a moment; once he recovered, his hands gripped the small of her back, pulling her towards him.

Henry swiftly turned off his motorcycle, the engine dying and filling the night with the sounds of crickets chirping and the soft breeze blowing through the trees in a hushed whisper. With his left hand still on the small of her back, he used his right hand to shove his keys into the pockets of his faded jeans.

Within moments, he placed his hands on her ass, lifting her up while she wrapped her legs around his waist. He strode towards her open motel room, their kissing picking up in ferociousness to make up for the years they spent apart.

With a kick of his leg, Henry shut the door shut behind him, gently letting Y/N on her feet as he turned to lock the door. She quickly reached out for him, her needy hands yanked the front of his shirt open, buttons flew everywhere and were left to fall on the carpet.

Their lips locked together while Henry pushed his shirt off. Y/N pressed her hands upon his hard stomach, recalling every inch of how his skin felt against her fingers, every single scar of raised tissue. Henry grasped the hemline of her shirt, pulling it off over her head and with a swift motion of his fingers, her bra fell from her chest to the floor.

Impatient, and feeling the pulsing between her legs continue to grow, she hastily pushed her pants and panties down her legs, eagerly stepping out from the pile on the floor.

Henry ceased to kiss her, holding her hips in his hands, stopping for a moment to admire her.

She watched his eyes trail over every inch of her body, admiring every curve, every scar, and every single imperfection. Her gaze fell from his face down to the growing bulge in his pants. He pushed her back slightly, gently falling onto his knees. Y/N moaned in pleasure upon feeling his tongue glide across her slick folds and over her sensitive bud.

“Henry,” she groaned, grabbing a fistful of his dirty blonde hair.

He muttered in response, pulling away momentarily to speak, “You still taste the same.”

Before she could respond, he pressed his lips against her pussy again, this time flicking her bud with his tongue, causing her groans to grow louder in response. Henry pushed her back towards the edge of the bed, disregarding the sound of the scattered papers crinkling beneath her ass. Y/N grew concerned for a moment, trying to push the various police reports away from them. Henry, now kneeling in front of her, lifted her legs over his shoulders. She grasped the blanket and papers in her hands, crumbling them as his tongue continued to dance in her slick folds. Her hips rocked back and forth, feeling the familiar waves of an oncoming orgasm begin to form in her lower abdominal area. Her hands reached for his hair, rubbing his scalp and pushing his tongue further inside of her; her release so close.

Her breath began to come out in short gasps as she felt the tightening inside of her pussy, “Don’t stop. Henry don’t stop.”

Henry picked up his pace, sensing she was close, and within moments, her eyes shut tight and her hands grasped his hair harder as she felt the muscles inside her pussy begin to contract. She let out a sigh of relief, riding the waves of her blissful orgasm.

Henry planted a kiss on her pussy, and then left a trail of wet kisses down her thigh. She fell back on the bed, watching as the fingers on his left hand undid the belt around his jeans while he wiped his mouth clean of her cum with his right. After he undid his pants, he pushed his faded jeans down and let them fall to his ankles, his hard cock shining with the wetness of pre-cum filling his head.

Her eyes locked on his, observing as he stroked his dick leisurely. He licked his lips once more before crawling over her and prodding her legs open, watching as she welcomed him with a lustrous gaze. His cock pressed against her pussy while he ran his calloused fingers over her skin, his breath coming out in short pants the longer he stared at her.

“It’s nice to see you without the marks,” he said.

Y/N exhaled lazily, recalling how every time they had sex, he always commented on how much he hated the bites Patrick marked her with.

He continued to trace her skin with his hands, softly squeezing her breasts and nibbling her nipples between his teeth, causing her to let out a soft gasp of pain. Henry’s eyes locked on hers, blue and deep, no longer wild or angry, but gentle and loving. He brought his hands to her face, caressing the outline of her lips as he pressed his own against hers.

Without warning, he pushed his cock inside of her, gasping as he felt her walls wrapping around him. Y/N moaned quietly, his thick cock stretching her out from the inside, causing her both pleasure and pain.

It had been years since she felt anyone inside of her; it had been years since she allowed herself to be fully wrapped up in another person. She gazed at Henry, watching as his eyes fluttered shut, his thrusts became fervent and rough the longer he was inside of her. Her eyes trailed over to the files still scattered on her bed, and it was then that she came to her senses, realizing that no matter how much she wanted Henry Bowers, she just made the biggest mistake a supposedly highly trained FBI agent could make.

* * *

Y/N laid awake in bed long after Henry fell asleep with his arms around her. After what seemed like hours of passionate and hungry sex, with her and Henry climaxing multiple times, did he finally throw in the towel.

She managed to clean up the files of the murders when Henry excused himself to go to restroom, hiding them out of paranoia that he might go through them.

She told herself that this was what she wanted, and as much as she tried to reassure herself, nothing stopped her from feeling the extreme amount of guilt that she felt now. Although he made her feel the way she did when they were younger, it was wrong, and if anyone found out, it would cost her everything she worked so hard for; her job, her career, her sanity. All of it gone in a flash, just because she couldn’t control herself around _Henry fucking Bowers_.

_At least it wasn’t Patrick,_ she told herself, still holding on to hope that what she did with Henry wasn’t so bad. Not compared to how much worse it would have been had Patrick been around.

Patrick would not have been as compassionate and gentle as Henry had, Patrick would have made her life hell. As much as she tried to avoid it, the memories of her relationship with Patrick were coming through the thick walls that she tried so hard for years to keep up. She inhaled deeply, trying her best to push them back. But, she ultimately failed, her mind wandered, recalling the memory of her past.

_Patrick growled and grunted as he pummeled into Y/N relentlessly, his hands gripped her wrists with so much strength she was sure they would leave yet another mark signifying Patrick Hockstetter’s dominion over her. Y/N stared at those normally empty grey green eyes boring into her, his brows furrowed slightly, before twisting his lips into a crooked grin, bringing them down to her neck and biting down hard on her, breaking the skin and causing Y/N to writhe in pain._

_It was something she was used to however. Sex with Patrick wasn’t like sex with Henry; both boys were rough around the edges, but Henry had a gentle side to him that shone through when they were alone together. Patrick, however, was never kind. He was never gentle. He wasn’t a troubled boy with a heart of gold. Patrick was a deep hole of nothingness that could never be filled, no matter how much pain he inflicted, no matter how much sex he had, it was never enough._

_But that was good enough for her. There was something alluring about the psychotic labyrinth that was Patrick Hockstetter; he reveled in his madness, and he encouraged Y/N to do the same. Henry Bowers and the gang were feared, but Y/N and Patrick alone were downright terrifying and one thousand times more unpredictable than all the Bowers Gang put together._

_Y/N exhaled deeply as Patrick pressed his lips against hers, catching his bottom lip in her teeth and biting down hard until she felt the coppery taste of his blood in her mouth. He pulled back, grasping her throat in his hands and squeezing tightly, his eyes crazed and his grin maniacal as he continued to pound in her, the sight of his blood on her lips driving him over the edge._

_Moments later, he pulled his cock out of her pussy, and quickly climbed over her, allowing his thick white cum to spill over her face._

_Patrick chuckled at the sight, running his tongue over the small bleeding cut on his lip, “That’s a good look on you.”_

_Y/N smirked, wiping the cum off her face, licking it seductively off her hands, knowing full well that the motion would further drive Patrick further over the edge, “How about like this?”_

_“Even better,” he said, slapping her ass, leaving a large red mark on it. He pulled himself off his mattress, letting the sheets fall into the heap of dirty and clean clothes that littered the floor. He reached into his dresser, pulling out a new pack of menthol off brand cigarettes. He quickly lit one with the flick of his lighter, his shaggy black hair falling in waves around his face and small baby hairs matted against his forehead from the sweat. Once it was lit, he took a long drag, exhaling as his calculating gaze fell on Y/N, “You felt different.”_

_Y/N furrowed her brows at his words, “What the fuck are you talking about?”_

_He smiled widely at her, “I guess it’s to be expected when you go around fucking Henry Bowers.”_

_She remained as stoic as she possibly could, ignoring the nervousness that was beginning to spread through her body, engulfing her in waves of panic. Still, she swallowed it down. Patrick was playing a game, that much she knew now, “And_ if _I was?”_

_His grin widened, giving him an eerily frightening appearance that even she was unnerved by, “Just remember one thing, Princess, you belong to me. Not to Henry Bowers. Not to your father._ Me _.”_

_Y/N shivered slightly at the mention of her father, “Not like I can tell anyone otherwise, you make sure everyone knows.”_

_Patrick took another drag from his cigarette, slowly making his way towards her as the cigarette lay limp in his mouth. His face was inches away from hers, their noses barely touching as he gripped a handful of hair behind her head, holding her steady and firmly in place while he spoke in a dark tone, “Obviously not.”_

_“There’s nothing going on between Henry and I,” she whispered through clenched teeth, the throbbing pain from Patrick’s grip on her hair now growing the longer he held on._

_His free hand grabbed the cigarette that hung on his lips, his terrifying grin spreading larger than she thought it could, giving him a slight grinch like appearance, “And now you’re_ lying _to me.”_

_Y/N winced in pain, quickly sucking down the scream of agony building in her chest. The burning sensation on her hip alleviated for a moment when Patrick removed the cigarette from her skin, “You know I don’t like it when you lie to me, so,” he paused, holding the cigarette between his fingers, “Are you fucking Henry Bowers?”_

_She pursed her lips, refusing to give up the truth. Her voice was defiant when she hissed her answer, “_ No _.”_

_Patrick licked his lips once more, bringing the cigarette up to his lips, the tip of it glowing a blazing orange as he brought it to life. In an instant, his fingers brought the cigarette back down to her hip, pressing it hard into her skin near the open wound he had inflicted on her moments ago. She squirmed beneath him, her hands reaching up to pull his thick head of hair. Patrick, however, was seemingly unfazed by it and his grip remained rough on her, refusing to remove the cigarette tip away from her tender skin until it died out._

_Once he removed it, he flicked it onto the messy floor, his hands grasping her throat tightly, prompting her to remove her hold on his hair and lay on the bed limply. He brought his lips down to her jaw, biting her softly, “I know you’re lying to me, and the more you lie, the worse this is going to get for you._ And _for Henry. So, let’s do this once more; are you fucking Henry Bowers?”_

_Tears were beginning to pool in the corners of her eyes, still, she refused to let them fall. She gasped for breath, mentally apologizing to Henry for what she was about to say, “I am.”_

_She didn’t know what to expect from Patrick. He was a wild card, no one knew what he was going to do from one moment to the next, but she did know that Patrick was dangerous, and that Henry would be the subject of his psychotic fixation._

_He smirked maliciously, his eyes burning with crazed derangement upon hearing the knock on his bedroom door, “Hockstetter!”_

_Y/N’s eyes widened when she realized who stood outside his bedroom, “Did you-?”_

_“I did,” he whispered into her ear, “I saw him at your house the other night.”_

_“You were there?” she asked, her shock apparent at the revelation._

_Patrick nodded, his long, nimble fingers tracing the edges of her jaw, “I’m always there; you’re wrong if you think I would_ ever _turn my gaze away from you.”_

_“Hockstetter! Open the fucking door lanky motherfucker!” Henry bellowed from the other side of the door as he pounded on it._

_“Patrick, leave him alone, I’ll stop seeing him-”_

_Before she could finish, however, Patrick jumped off the bed, waltzed towards the door and unlocked it, allowing Henry full view of his naked body, and Y/N pushing herself up on the bed, grasping frantically for a blanket. She could see the slight hurt on Henry’s face when his eyes landed on the fresh bite marks Patrick placed on her, as well as the redness around her neck._

_His blue eyes hardened when he made eye contact with Patrick, “Put your dick away Patrick, no one wants to see that shit.”_

_Patrick chuckled, kicking the door open, allowing Henry entry into the room, “Vic and Belch?”_

_“They’re waiting for us outside,” he answered, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible as he leaned against the doorframe, “So, hurry up and get fucking dressed, the both of you.”_

_He turned on his heel, ready to leave when Patrick spoke, “You sure you don’t want to stay and fuck my girlfriend?”_

_Henry paused in his steps, tensing slightly and slowly turning to face Patrick’s amused glance, still naked and lighting another cigarette now, “_ What _?”_

_Patrick inhaled the smoke deeply, making his way over to Y/N. She tensed when Patrick’s tall frame towered over her. He got on his knees behind her, his free hand cupped her left breast roughly, making her gasp in pain, “Fuck her. Isn’t that what you like to do when I’m not around?”_

_Henry stiffened at the accusation. Which wasn’t much of an accusation rather than a fact, he pursed his lips. Rather than deny it, however, she watched with skeptical eyes as Henry crossed his arms over his chest, “And if I do? What are you going to_ do _about that?”_

_“I told you, fuck her,” Patrick said, making Y/N wince as he buried the tip of his cigarette into her left shoulder, “Or you can watch as I have my way with her.”_

_Her eyes pleaded with Henry not to do anything stupid, god knows what the hell was going on in Patrick’s mind, and what he was planning, but she gathered that whatever it was, it wasn’t going to end well for anyone, “Not if I fuck you up first.”_

_The sound that escaped from Patrick’s lips rang in her ear, it was a loud cackle that made shivers run down her spine, making the tiny hairs on her arms to stand and her body tremble in fear. That was a sound she only heard when Patrick was well on his way to begin his torment on whatever poor fucker dared to cross him, and today, it was Henry Bowers, “You mean to tell me that you_ don’t _want to fuck her?”_

_He gripped her breast harder, pressing his nails into her skin and breaking the skin, causing small lines of blood to appear._

_“Whatever game you’re playing, Hockstetter, I ain’t in. One way or another, you’re going to get your ass kicked, and Y/N is coming with me,” he spat, his fists clenching as he saw the torment that Patrick was inflicting on Y/N. She still pleaded with him through her eyes not to do anything stupid, trying to reassure him with a look that she could handle whatever Patrick threw her way._

_“If it makes you feel better,” Patrick said, releasing his grip on her as he moved to stand near the edge of the bed, “But, I’m offering an alternative, you fuck her, I fuck her, she gets us both, everyone wins.”_

_Y/N glanced between both the boys. She gripped the edges of the blanket tightly, ignoring the pain on her hips, shoulder, neck and breasts, trying to make sense of what the hell was going on._

_“You don’t share, Patrick, everyone knows that. And even if I wanted to, Y/N isn’t a toy to be tossed around,” Henry seethed, his hands clenching on his sides._

_“She is_ mine _to do as I see fit with her,” he smirked, leaning down, gripping Y/N’s wrist and yanking her up roughly so the sheets fell in a jumbled ball on Patrick’s mattress. He stood behind her, his hard cock pressing up against her ass as his chin rested on her shoulder, his hands opening her legs and smoothly sliding a finger inside of her, causing her to moan involuntarily, “And she can be yours too.”_

_Henry glared at Patrick rubbing his hands all over her, the jealousy building inside of him when his eyes fell on Y/N, softening upon glancing at her, “Is this what_ you _want?”_

_“_ Is _this what you want?” Patrick asked, repeating Henry’s question in a sly voice._

_Y/N closed her eyes softly. If this was the only way she could have both Henry and Patrick, then yes. Her selfish desires to keep both boys in her life overwhelmed whatever logic was building in her mind to argue back against how this would be wrong, “Yes, I want you both.”_

_She felt Patrick’s hands grip her thigh tightly, “So, it’s settled,” he said, pushing her towards Henry, who grasped her in his arms to keep her from tripping over Patrick’s mess of a room. Henry’s blue eyes fell on Patrick, hard and loathsome as the lanky boy plopped himself on the bed, stretching out in front of him. He took a long drag of his cigarette, before speaking, “Well, let’s get started.”_

_Y/N quickly turned and pressed her lips on Henry, who was hesitant to kiss her back. But upon feeling her naked body in his hands, his self-control went out the window, and soon enough, she was propped on the bed on all fours with Henry’s thick cock in her pussy and Patrick’s cock filling her mouth. Both boys grunting in response to their sexual needs being filled by the same girl, completely ignoring the fact that Belch and Vic still waited for them outside._

_To Y/N, the whole ordeal seemed too good to be true, and if her instincts and her relationship with Patrick taught her anything, it was that Patrick Hockstetter did_ not _like to share._

Henry stirred in the bed beside her, his arms pulling her into his body, pressing his morning wood against her ass. He moaned softly, inhaling deeply while he spoke with his eyes still closed, “You haven’t slept have you?”

“No,” she answered gingerly, checking the time on her phone and typing a quick message to Roman that she would be late today.

“Why not?” He asked, his eyes now flying open and staring at her with concern.

Y/N shrugged, tossing her phone on the pillow as she sat up on the bed, stretching her back, “I have a hard time sleeping.”

His hands grazed the skin on her back. She ignored the rattling coming from the nightstand, “Are these supposed to help?”

She knew what he was referring to, she became all too familiar with the sound of the pills inside the bottles, “They’re supposed to, but they haven’t done shit lately.”

Henry remained silent behind her, placing the pills down on the nightstand gently. She felt a sense of unease stirring in the pit of her stomach, sighing softly when she asked Henry, “What happened to Patrick?”

She turned to watch Henry’s expression change from one of concern to one of irritation, “You’re a cop, didn’t you read what happened?”

“I did,” she answered, turning to face him completely, letting the sheets fall to her hips, “But, it doesn’t seem like the detectives who handled the case really went deep into detail. Besides, it was said that he was last seen with you and the guys.”

Henry rolled his eyes, rubbing his face with his hands, “He was. We were drinking, Patrick offered to go and grab liquor from his house, and he never returned.”

“But,” she paused, furrowing her brows, “Belch never let anyone touch Amy, and I’m supposed to believe that Belch just _handed_ the keys over to _Pat_?”

“What do you want me to say, Y/N? No one was in their right state of mind, we were all drunk off our asses, we were high; I don’t think Belch really gave a shit about who drove his car and where they drove it to… why are we even _talking_ about Hockstetter?”

“No reason,” she replied, shrugging her shoulders, “I was just wondering.”

“Trying to see if maybe I’m responsible for his death too?”

Y/N’s gaze flew to his less than pleased glare, “I was just asking a fucking question, Henry. I don’t suspect you of anything—”

“No? Then if I were to ask you to take me off your suspects list or what the fuck ever—”

“That’s not the way it works, Henry,” she argued, trying to keep the fact that she still suspected him to herself. She had just fixed things with him, the last thing she wanted was to end up on Henry’s bad side again.

“Do _you_ think I did it?”

“Did what?”

Henry sat up, rolling his eyes, “Killed those girls. Had something to do with fucking Hockstetter’s _suicide_.”

He said the last word with so much emphasis, reminding her the facts of Patrick Hockstetter’s case. He drove off a bridge, he drowned. It was ruled a suicide. She sighed deeply, “I’m not supposed to talk about it with you.”

“I’m not asking you about your fucking case, Y/N, I’m asking if _you think I did it_?!”

His voice was now rising, his irritating clear in the tone of his voice. Y/N did her best not to let her temper rise along with his, whispering quietly when she answered, “Of course not, I was just curious.”

Henry sighed, resting his elbows on his knees, “You miss him, don’t you?”

Y/N’s brows wrinkled. Did she miss Patrick?

She glanced down at the scars that she still carried with her, markings signifying that what happened with Patrick wasn’t just a dream, it was real. She recalled her darkest moments with him, and the fucked up things she did with him when she was a teen. The answer was simple, “No, I don’t.”

He glanced at her for a moment, trying to make sense of her answer and if she was telling the truth. After a few tense moments, he exhaled deeply, leaning in towards her, bringing his hands up to her jaw and pressing a tender kiss on her lips, “Are you going to the station today?”

“I have to,” she whispered, shivering slightly at his touch, “I have a ton of work to do.”

Henry groaned in response, pressing gentle kisses on her shoulder, “Can I see you again tonight?”

“Maybe,” she answered, suddenly recalling the fact that she had a date with Roman tonight.

_Fuck,_ she thought.

If Henry found out about her date, he would most likely lose his shit, it was obvious that Henry and Roman weren’t in each other’s good graces. Trying to sound as convincing as possible, she muttered, “I’m probably going to work late tonight.”

“Alright,” he said, pressing his lips against hers again in a primal need. She slowly laid on the bed, her head hitting the hard pillow and her legs involuntarily spreading for him. She groaned pleasantly upon feeling him inside her again, unprepared for the thickness of his cock.

“Stay with me,” his voice was just above a whisper, almost a plea. The facade of anger and rage fell, giving way to the boy that she fell in love with years ago, the one that was vulnerable, gentle and caring that she just couldn’t resist him. Ignoring whatever responsibilities she had, and her oncoming date with Roman, she succumbed easily to Henry’s request, “I’ll stay.”

Henry smiled tenderly at her, pressing his lips against her neck, leaving a trail of kisses along her collarbone and chest as he slowly thrusted inside of her. 

Even though everything was telling her not to do this anymore, she allowed herself a few moments of bliss with Henry Bowers, because god knew that he would never forgive her when she would have to tell him that this whole thing was a mistake. But for now, she enjoyed the way he made her feel, just like he did all those years ago, only this time, it was only she and Henry, and there was no Patrick Hockstetter around to ruin it.

* * *


	6. Running With Scissors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Explicit mentions of murder and corpses, mentions of sexual activity. Alcohol use. Mentions of mental illness and pharmaceutical use. Angst. Some fluff, I guess.
> 
> A/N: I have added a character that I think you would all adore, because my bitch ass couldn’t help myself. Also, this chapter contains triggering content, turn back and heed the warnings. The inspiration from this chapter came from the title; Running With Scissors by I See Stars.

The sound of relentless vibrating made her stir from her deep slumber. Y/N groaned lightly into the rough fabric of the hard pillow, shuffling around to silence her phone. Henry grunted beside her, turning over, swinging his strong right arm over her waist and pulling her closer to him. His voice was thick with sleepiness as he groaned beside her, his voice hot on the skin behind her neck, “Who is it?”

“I don’t know,” Y/N responded, her own voice raspy and heavy as she woke from her deep slumber. Her hand reached underneath her pillow, feeling the sleek surface of her phone.

Frustrated, she pulled it out, squinting as the bright beam of light hit her face.

_Roman._

_Shit_ , she thought, suddenly feeling overcome with nervousness as the numbers glowed 3:32 PM.

“I need to take this,” she announced to Henry, who tightened his grip around her waist.

“Fuck them, you’re with me right now. Everybody else can fucking wait,” Henry mumbled.

Giggling quietly, she lightly pushed his arm off her waist, making her way to the restroom, “I already stayed here with you most of the day, I have to get to work.”

“And I do too,” Henry retorted, rubbing his eyes as he watched Y/N jog towards the restroom, smirking at the sight of her ass bouncing, not even bothering to conceal the impending hard on that was pitching a tent in the sheets.

“You don’t have superiors breathing down your neck in your line of work,” she replied, opening the door to the restroom.

“You’d be surprised,” Henry mumbled, jumping out of bed and chasing after Y/N. He buried his face into her neck, kissing her playfully as his hands rubbed her naked body, “Stay.”

“I can’t,” she protested, giggling at his touch.

“Stay longer, and then I’ll let you get back to work tomorrow.”

“This isn’t a compromise, Henry.”

“At least a few more hours,” he persisted, refusing to take no for an answer, “C’mon.”

Y/N started to feel the nervousness kick in as her phone stopped vibrating for a few moments, then started up again, “We’ll talk about it after I get off the phone, Henry.”

“Alright alright,” he scoffed, turning and throwing himself on the bed, lighting a cigarette between his fingers.

“Ok, please try to be quiet,” Y/N ordered, holding up a finger at Henry and ignoring his expression that was plastered with offense. Silently, she closed the door behind her as she answered the call, “Hi Roman.”

“Is everything alright? You didn’t come in today, and I didn’t want to bother you at your hotel-”

“I was resting,” Y/N quickly interjected, keeping her voice level so as not to give any indication that Henry Bowers was in her hotel room with her, naked. On her bed. “I didn’t sleep much last night.”

“I figured,” he thought in a gentle tone, “Are you feeling better?”

“Slightly.”

The line remained silent for a moment as she waited for Roman’s response, “So, did you pick anything new from the journal?”

Y/N considered his question for a few moments, suspecting that the question he asked wasn’t the one he wanted to ask. Instead of pressing him on it, she decided to answer him, figuring that they could work out the details at another time when Henry Bowers wasn’t in her hotel room, “I caught a couple of things of interest, actually, nothing solid but if you want to wait for me to get there we can go over them…”

“Yeah, yeah I’ll wait for you,” Roman responded, “Some kind of clue is better than nothing.”

“Great, I’ll see you soon,” Y/N replied, ending the call as she stared at her reflection in the mirror. The dark circles under her eyes were starting to get significantly darker, no thanks to her lack of sleep and the medications not doing their job right.

_I need the doctor to up my dosage, or I just need to up my alcohol intake_ , she thought as she began her ritual; brushing her teeth, her hair, and washing her face. Moments later, she exited the restroom, furrowing her brows at Henry who was reading the labels on the prescription pills.

“Seriously, what’s the fucking deal with these?” he asked, shaking them in his hand as they rattled in their bottles like maracas.

Y/N shrugged indifferently, not wishing to get into the specifics as to why she needed medication to function on a daily basis, “They’re supposed to help me deal with shit.”

“What kinda shit?” he asked, lighting another cigarette as his baby blue eyes stayed on her, waiting for her to answer.

She paused from pulling the day’s clothes out of her suitcase, her reluctance at telling Henry the truth as to why she needed the pills was clear the longer she remained silent, at least that’s what she thought. She turned over, locking eyes with Henry who was still awaiting an answer to his question, the pill bottle still in his hands. Sighing heavily, she turned back towards her suitcase of clothes, pulling out a white fitted t-shirt as she answered, “I think you know why, Henry.”

“Did he fuck you up that bad?”

Henry’s voice was a soft whisper when he asked her his question. Y/N closed her eyes tightly, pausing as she thought about the things that happened with Patrick. The things _he_ did. The things _they_ did. The things _they all_ did, together. Aware of the impending feelings of anxiety and fear, she immediately quelled the memories that loomed at the edge of her mind, “It wasn’t _just_ him.”

“Me too?”

“No, Henry- Can we not talk about this?”

“Why not?” he asked, taking a drag from his cigarette, “Does it really bother you that fucking much?”

“I _don’t_ want to talk about it, Henry,” she said, her voice slightly pleading as she snapped a purple bra on.

Henry remained silent for a few minutes, allowing Y/N to finish getting dressed, “’ _Zoloft_ ’; I’ve seen this shit on TV, it’s supposed to help with depression or some shit. Is that what you got?”

“Can you please put the fucking pills back where they belong?” she asked, her voice stiff with anger as she turned to face him now. His eyes were on her, questioning and searching her for any indication of what was going on with her.

Slowly, he opened the drawer on the nightstand, casually tossing the pill bottle, along with the others, inside. Once it was closed shut, he turned towards her, watching her as she pulled her bag of makeup out from the depths of her suitcase. From the corner of her eye, she vaguely caught a glimpse of Henry pulling his boxers and jeans on. The sound of his belt buckle jingling in the silence of the room as she strolled towards the restroom filled the air, aside from Henry’s disappointed tone of voice, “I’m guessing you’re not going to stay then.”

“I have work to do, Henry,” she replied, setting the bag down on the edge of the counter in the restroom, beginning her quick makeup routine to cover the dark circles under her eyes, “In case you have forgotten, there’s a fucking serial killer on the loose.”

Henry pulled his shirt on over his shoulders, struggling to button it closed, realizing that they were all scattered about the dirty carpet after Y/N tore it open the previous night. Sighing, he leaned against the door of the restroom, crossing his arms over his chiseled chest as he gazed at her, “How can I forget when that’s the only reason why you came back in the first place?”

“I thought you were done with the sassy remarks,” Y/N quipped back, blending her foundation along with her concealer to try to cover the darkening circles under her eyes.

Henry chuckled, but his smile didn’t reach his eyes. He bit his bottom lip slightly as he responded, “Kinda hard not to be when you always leave.”

“I have a job to do, Henry!”

“Would it fucking kill you to stay with me for one fucking day, Y/N?!”

Seething, Y/N slammed her fists hard against the counter. Her eyes locked on to Henry’s blue glare, “Let’s get one thing straight, _Bowers_ , I already put my job, my _career_ on the line by fucking you. I already risked another woman being taken by spending time cooped up in here with you instead of doing my fucking job like I’m supposed to be doing. I don’t fucking owe you anything. You can deal with it, or you can take your ass out that door and never fucking come back.”

Henry tensed at her words, taking small, deliberate steps towards her until his breathing was hot on her skin as he snarled, “You weren’t fucking complaining about your job when I was balls deep in that pussy last night.”

Abashed, Y/N clenched her fist tight, bringing back her hand; using all her force, she swung hard, aiming for Henry’s jaw and feeling a sense of satisfaction when he stumbled backwards from the blow to the left side of his jaw.

Y/N expected him to be furious, she readied herself for the oncoming push against the wall with her hands held tightly in his over her head, the way Patrick used to do to her. Her eyes shut tight as her head tilted to the side in anticipation, tensing herself for the blow on her face or a bite on her neck. But, there was nothing.

She opened her eyes to glance at Henry, who was staring at her with a confused expression on his face. His breathing was heavy, but the look that crossed his features was anything but furious. He grasped his jaw in his hands, chuckling slightly, “You _do_ hit harder than your partner.”

“I’m—I’m sorry,” Y/N whispered.

Henry shrugged, pushing his messy dirty blonde hair back. He sighed gently, his gaze meeting his feet before he looked back at Y/N, locking his blue eyes on hers, “I gotta go.”

“Henry—” Y/N started as he stalked towards the bed, pulling his boots on and patting the pockets of his jeans for his keys.

“You got work to do, and I got some people that need their shit done, otherwise I won’t get paid; business hasn’t been too good since the cops started blaming me for the shit some other psychotic prick is doing,” Henry huffed, not at all bothered by the fact that his shirt was buttonless and his hard, toned torso was showing underneath as he lit a cigarette. He inhaled deeply through his teeth, the soft gaze he held for her earlier was replaced by the suspicious and furious gaze he welcomed her with the first time he saw her in his car shop, “See you around.”

“Wait,” Y/N called, making Henry pause in his steps, turning slowly to face her, “Henry, I don’t want it to be this way.”

He rolled his head, his impatient nature taking hold of him, “I don’t even think you know what you want, _princess_.”

Y/N winced at his casual use of the nickname, making her shudder slightly as a chill went down her spine as she recalled the way Patrick used to say it. Suddenly, she wasn’t talking to Henry, she was back in Patrick’s bedroom. She felt the sharp tinges of fear begin to prickle her skin as she prepared herself for another fight.

She breathed heavily, shutting her eyes tightly and quietly muttering to herself that it wasn’t real; that she wasn’t speaking to Patrick… she let her eyes slowly flow open, exhaling in relief when she glanced at Henry. However, Henry was still fuming, he wasn’t thrilled to see her the way he normally would be in their younger days. She swallowed silently, whispering below her breath in desperation, barely holding on to her sanity, “I don’t want you to be angry with me.”

Henry chuckled in disbelief, turning as his hand reached for the doorknob, rotating it as he seethed, “We don’t always get what we want, do we?”

Before she could object further, Henry slammed the door behind him, leaving her standing in the center of the room with her jaw slack and her breathing heavy. She shut her eyes again as she struggled to take hold of her emotions and control them and failing when she heard the rumble of Henry’s motorcycle boom to life and speed off in the distance while she contained her oncoming breakdown.

_It’s fine_ , she told herself, _you’re going to be alright._

Hastily, she rushed over to her bottle of whiskey, greedily twisting the cap off as she chugged a few gulps down hoping to drown the oncoming onslaught of a mental breakdown, “Get your shit together, Y/N.”

Sighing heavily, she waltzed back to the restroom and with trembling hands, continuing to do her makeup as she blatantly ignored the pining and yearning thoughts in her mind that called for Henry Bowers.

* * *

“Have a long night?” Roman asked with an amused expression as Y/N plopped down on the leather chair in her excuse of an office. Since she had arrived, she hadn’t spent much time in there as she should have, it made her question if she even needed one to begin with.

Roman’s jewel green eyes were twinkling with curiosity as she took a sip of the coffee he had prepared for her, she smiled gently as the warm taste of French vanilla flowed over her taste buds, “Somewhat- this is good, by the way, thank you.”

“I tried to make it the way you like it, I’ll get there eventually,” he said, obviously pleased with her comment. He tapped his fingers against the wooden armrests of his chair, whistling quietly as he waited for Y/N to gather her bearings while she took a few more gulps from the coffee that Roman graciously made for her.

She let her gaze fall on him as he reached for a file on the desk, throwing it open and immediately immersing himself into the documents and photos in the folder. His brows furrowed and his plump lips separated slightly the more he read on. Y/N’s heart flapped slightly the longer she stared at him, and even more so when Roman smirked playfully started, “I hope you’re staring because you’re enjoying the view.”

Y/N suppressed a cough, awkwardly swallowing her coffee as she retorted, “The view isn’t bad, if I may say so.”

“You could stand to say it more,” Roman countered, his jewel green eyes lifting from the file and landing on her, his playful smirk still spread on his lips.

She shook her head as she exhaled, tearing her eyes away from the green eyes man that sat a few feet across the desk from her. She shouldn’t be feeling this way about him, especially not after what she did last night… and _whom_ she did it with.

It was no question about it, she had a thing for Roman. And she also loved Henry. Henry was a suspect in the murders, and Roman had a strong dislike for the blonde-haired man while simultaneously showing signs of an attraction towards her.

The whole thing was a jumbled mess that she didn’t need to think about right now, all that mattered was finding the person that was preying on the young women of Derry. She wasn’t going to be able to do that if all she thought about was Henry Bowers or Roman Godfrey.

“So,” she started, pulling the journal out of her bag and laying it on her desk, “Other than the notes you’ve made and what you’ve found, there wasn’t much more I could get from Emily Hamill’s journal regarding our guy that she met- “

“Sadly,” Roman quickly interjected.

“Agreed; but, the thing they all seem to have in common is that they were strategically laid out for us to find them.”

“Yeah,” Roman agreed, flipping through the pages of the file, “All of the women we’ve found were all found in open areas where foot traffic was common.”

“Exactly, and even the… _eyes_ he sent us was a message to tell us that he’s watching us, but I think it was also a message to tell us he’s watching the next victim, the only thing is trying to figure out who the next one is,” she said, pausing momentarily before dropping the bomb on Roman, “Do you think Sasha Wilson’s and Jenica Torrez’s parents are ready for more questions?”

Roman sighed deeply, his eyes meeting hers as he spoke. The outrage was clear in them; however, he held his tongue as he carefully chose his words, “They aren’t doing too well, Y/N. I don’t think it’s a good idea to go and re-open wounds that are healing.”

“Re-opening wounds is my specialty,” she said, a little darker than she had intended earning her a look of concern from Roman. She quickly shook her head as she continued, “Our killer went after these women for a reason, they’re all connected somehow.”

“I understand why you’d want to go and speak to the Wilsons and Torrez’s, but I don’t think now is the- “

“Then when is the time to do it, Roman? When another girl is taken?”

“When?”

“Yes, Roman, _when_ , because you and I both know that he is on the lookout for his next victim,” Y/N said, her tone harsh and matter of fact.

Roman ignored her tone of voice, running a hand through his perfectly coiffed brown hair, “Did you know I was there when they found those women? I was the first on the scene, and the way they looked, the way they were laid out to find- “

“I saw the photos, Roman,” Y/N interjected, not wanting to hear what Roman had to say.

Roman, however, wasn’t letting her win this one, “Photos aren’t shit, Y/N. You’ve seen a dead body, right? Now, imagine finding a body so badly burnt that their own parents can’t identify her. Imagine having to tell those parents that there was no quick death, that she was alive when she was torched mercilessly by this fucking asshole. Would you be able to recover easily?”

Y/N glanced at her hands momentarily, overcome with guilt at having been cold for a moment. Her eyes met Roman’s green jewels as they watered slightly, the stress of recalling the discovery of the bodies fresh in his mind, “I’m sorry.”

He nodded, pursing his lips slightly before continuing, “We can do this without asking them questions.”

“I wish I could agree with you on that Roman, but you and I both know that’s not how we do our jobs around here; we were _lucky_ to find this piece of information because of Emily Hamill’s diary. Who knows what pieces of information these other girls could have unknowingly had about our killer? Especially if, like Emily, he followed them and introduced himself to them.”

Frustrated with the way the conversation was going, Roman stood from his chair, turning his back to Y/N as he took a deep breath, “Then we’re not really good detectives if we can’t do our jobs without interrupting the mourning of parents that have had to bury their children.”

Y/N leaned back in her chair as she tried to calm herself. Reasoning with Roman was almost as terrible as reasoning with Henry. _Stubborn asshole_.

Roman turned to her as Y/N pinched her nose, exhaling deeply, “Fine. We won’t question them.”

He nodded graciously at her in relief, “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me just yet,” Y/N said as she pulled up the files of Jenica Torrez and Sasha Wilson on her computer, hoping to find some kind of information on the previous women that were found, “We’re going to have to rely on what we have on file to see what we can dig up.”

“We got the testimonies from their families- “

“And if there was something you should have picked up from Emily Hamill is that sometimes parents, or friends, don’t know people as well as they thought they did.”

“Maybe not, but we can do without interrupting a mourning family,” Roman said, stubbornly sticking to his damn morals.

She had to admit, that while they were frustrating, they were also admirable. But, the idea that he was so emotional about it was irritating and backwards, in her opinion. How were they going to get the information they needed if they spent their time tiptoeing around mourning families? How were they going to get this fucker off the streets without covering every possible surface?

Of course, it didn’t help that half the time she was distracted by the people around her and her willingness to please the people that used to matter to her when she was a kid, like Henry. Her mind was now plagued with thoughts of the events that partook earlier in her hotel room and she felt a sense of dread fill her. Earning his forgiveness this time around would be difficult, Henry was naturally a difficult person to deal with.

She shouldn’t have hit him, but, the asshole was being rude and disrespectful to her. Regardless of her mental state or how much of a mess she was in, she was not going to allow anyone to get away with speaking to her like she belonged to them.

_I shouldn’t have slept with him_ , she thought, her heart being overcome with regret as she thought about his deep breaths of air on her skin. She shuddered slightly as she recalled the way Henry filled her up inside and the touch of his lips on her own as he thrusted inside of her.

“Are you doing alright?” Roman asked, pulling Y/N out of her daze.

She looked down at her hand to realized she was gripping her mouse extremely tight, “Oh, yeah, I’m fine. Just got some shit on my mind.”

“Anything you wanna talk about?”

“Not really,” Y/N said.

Roman sighed, plopping the file down on the desk, “Look, I know something is bothering you, so I’m going to go ahead and go out on a limb and say that maybe we should rain check our dinner date?”

“Fuck-I’m sorry I forgot- “

“Hey, it’s fine,” Roman chuckled, “We don’t have to go anywhere, especially not with the amount of work we have to do now because I didn’t want to question those families- I’m not trying to blame you or throw it in your face,” he quickly added when Y/N opened her mouth to retort in protest, “How about we order takeout and do our work here? That’ll be our dinner date.”

Y/N tried to resist and say no, not because she wanted to, but because of the guilt she felt for sleeping with Henry just last night. It was obvious that Roman was being considerate, but he was still in full pursuit. She should cut it off while she still had the chance; allowing this go further would only complicate everything that was already a mess. Still, she couldn’t stop herself as soon as she saw his smile and she felt her resolve, if she even had any, crumble, “Alright.”

_Not like you’re going to fuck Roman_ , she said to herself, reminding herself that having dinner with someone and fucking them were two completely different things. She didn’t have to tell Roman about Henry, and she didn’t have to tell Henry about Roman.

She didn’t belong to anyone, yet. So, no explanations were needed, and neither of them had to know her business. However, that still didn’t deter her from feeling the immense amount of guilt she did for leading Henry on, and possibly leading Roman on.

And no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t quell the feeling that grew inside of her the more Roman smiled at her and treated her like more of a person than anyone’s ever had.

_I’m fucked_ , she thought as Roman winked at her while he placed an order on the phone, _I’m really fucked._

* * *

**Marty Simms**

Marty Simms was a simple man. He worked at the local high school as an English Literature teacher, once his work day was over, he came home, he fed his cat, Mittens; then he went for a walk in the trail that led to the woods behind his home. After his walk, he trailed the walk back home for a delicious dinner that his wife Dolores had spent hours preparing, had a shower and then tucked away for the night with his wife beside him. 

When he bought this home with his wife 30 years ago, he couldn’t help but think that he hit the jackpot when he realized that the previous owners made their own trail in the forest to walk through, being a nature lover himself, it was a dream come true.

The trail winded through the trees coming along beside a meadow, and it finally came to a stop in a large clearing near the stream in the forest. Often times, he preferred to bring a book to the generously shaded area; preferring the seclusion of the woods to the loudness of his home as his wife hosted yet another cheese and wine party with her lady friends. Tonight, was one of those nights.

Marty didn’t mind, it gave him more time to be alone and reread _Othello_ , a story about a web of lies spun out of jealousy. Dolores always thought the play was too dark, but Marty enjoyed the elements instilled in the story.

Eagerly, he carefully nestled his book inside the pack that Dolores prepared for him, complete with his favorite snacks and a post-it note that contained a sweet phrase. He also snuck an ice cream sandwich into the pack when Dolores wasn’t watching, knowing full well that she would chastise him on eating dairy more than once a day.

_One more won’t hurt_ , he told himself as he stuffed the sandwich into his pack.

Gleefully, he waltzed towards the back deck where Dolores and the ladies were cozied up, discussing the week’s chapter they had to read for their book club. Marty found it lovely that his wife took an interest in his hobbies and read the books he had in his personal library, sharing them with her book club to discuss the story. She often times tried to pull him into the conversation, but he didn’t want to intrude on her time with her lady friends, preferring to have their discussions on the book alone so she could provide her friends with her own well-crafted analysis.

“Be back before sunset, dear, I’m making pot roast for dinner,” Dolores cooed to him as he planted a kiss on her cheek.

“Of course, sweetheart,” he answered, taking careful steps down the deck stairs. Smiling shyly as the ladies all praised him on his manners.

Once he was finally in the silence of the forest, he breathed in deeply, feeling at ease after a difficult day at the school today. The whole town was in complete fear over the disappearance of the missing women, and the thought that one of his own female students was a victim of the serial killer haunted him. He wished he was a bigger help to the investigating officers when they asked her teachers about her, but there wasn’t much he could say about Jenica Torrez, other than the fact that the girl was a handful and difficult to most teachers, however, she seemed to have a decent relationship with him.

Jenica wasn’t the best of kids, in fact, she reminded him of one of his own students many years before; a troubled child with deep seated issues. Still, there was something bright and pure about the girl, a redeeming quality that she could make it if she was given the right guidance. Only, she wasn’t. But that didn’t mean she deserved to die. No one did.

Dolores did her best to set his mind at ease, telling him that he did the best he could to help her, even going as far as to find a copy of a poem that Jenica turned in as an assignment for her parents. Marty was surprised that she managed to find it and turn it into a thoughtful gift for the Torrez’s, placing it in one of her own, favorite antique silver frames for them. Her parents graciously accepted the gift, and even thanked Marty for being the only teacher that tried to help Jenica.

He didn’t understand how he was a help, all he really did was hand her a few of his own personal books that might expand her mind and help her understand that the early adulthood/late teenage angst would not last forever, and that she could be great in spite of whatever was going on in her life.

Marty shook his head sadly, wishing that whomever was responsible for instilling the fear and sorrow in his hometown would be caught by the police soon.

He took a deep breath, closing his eyes as he walked the trail of the forest, allowing the sounds of crickets chirping the wind bristling through the leaves to fill his ears and calm his heart rate.

In the distance, the light in the clearing shone bright as the rays of the sun reflected of the surface of the creek’s water. He tried to quicken his pace, wanting to delve back into his book. However, age was catching up with him and he quickly realized that he shouldn’t push himself. Instead, he carefully lifted his pack, pulling the ice cream sandwich out of the side pocket. He gently unwrapped it, savoring the taste of the chocolate and vanilla in his mouth.

His eyes squinted as he glanced towards the clearing, noticing an oddly shaped form in the opening of the trail.

“Darn it,” he mumbled to himself, wondering which teen decided to party here and leave their mess as he pulled out his glasses. It happened before, but no amount of complaints to Derry P.D. could stop the kids from doing what they wanted to. He begrudgingly continued as he unfolded his glasses, “Guess I’ll have to spend another half hour cleaning up.”

Once he pressed the glasses over the bridge of his nose, he tilted his head in confusion, pausing in his steps. His brows furrowed as he stared at the figure in the middle of the trail, lumpy and red. Slowly, he took small steps towards it, afraid of what it might be.

Upon getting within 10 feet of the figure, his hands loosened on his pack and his ice cream sandwich, both of them making a soft thud when they hit the dirt ground. Shock coursed through him the more he stared at the figure laying on the trail. His eyes trailed to what looked to be feet, and upon closer inspection, legs, a body… horror overtook him and his breathing increased when the realization hit him that it was a person, bloody and gruesome as flies swirled over the person’s skinless muscles.

Marty swiveled on his feet, quickly turning and shouting his wife’s name in utter terror, the motion making his glasses fall somewhere on the ground below. But he didn’t dare look for them, for fear that whomever did this would still be out in the woods.

He tried not to look back at the body, but the chills that ran down his spine prompted him to look over his shoulder, and in the brush across the creek, he swore he could see the faint outline of someone dressed in black, waving a gloved hand at him.

Fear overtaking him now, he shouted once more as he pushed his legs to run faster. He could feel his heart rate begin to increase, and his breathing became rough and short, but he had to make it. Once he saw the house and the clearing in the brush, he immediately shouted to his wife once more, “Dolores! Call 9-1-1! Dolores!”

His wife, and her lady friends, immediately jumped from the deck and rushed towards him, all of them crowding around him in concern as he tried to form words with his mouth, until finally, he was able to utter once more, “Call 9-1-1, there’s a dead body in the woods.”

* * *

Reader

Y/N smirked slyly as she watched Roman explain why he disliked _The Cure_ with a passion, “They’re just not my style.”

“Get out,” Y/N joked, playfully slamming her fist on the desk, “We can’t be partners, you are officially uncool.”

Roman barked a laugh as he tried to take a sip from his drink. Y/N watched him in appreciation, grateful for the laid-back company Roman provided as they ate in a peaceful ambience for an hour when their takeout arrived. It was calm, not cluttered and crazy the way her life normally was when she was alone in her hotel room.

“I think it’s kinda macabre that we are able to eat when those photos are up there,” Roman pointed when he finished his story, eyeing the mosaic of dead bodies and crime scene photos on the board.

“Vultures stomach,” Y/N jokingly said.

“If that was a joke, it was terrible, maybe _you_ should get out,” Roman teased, chuckling quietly as he took a drink from his Styrofoam cup of lemonade. He groaned in approval, setting his cup down on the desk, “So, you said I could ask you anything now…”

“I did,” Y/N said, swallowing a spoonful of fried rice.

“What made you change your mind about your rule?” he asked, leaning back on his chair, his eyes curiously twinkling as he waited for her answer.

Y/N pursed her lips as she set her to go plate of food down on her desk. Her hands reached for a napkin inside the paper bag that the takeout was delivered in, dabbing the sides of her mouth and wiping her hands as she answered, “I don’t know; I guess I just thought I could trust you.”

Roman’s eyes locked on hers, the greenness of them glowing like jewels in the soft lighting of the evening setting sun beaming in through the window, “ _Can_ I trust you?”

“You have no reason not to,” Roman answered.

Y/N scoffed skeptically, “I don’t know much about you, Roman.”

“You’re the one that decided to trust me before knowing me.”

“Then tell me about you,” Y/N pressed, trying to gain the upper hand with him.

Roman smirked, setting his plate of food on her desk as he pulled out his pack of cigarettes. He handed one to Y/N and placed one between his lips, leaning over the desk to light her cigarette for her before lighting his own. He inhaled deeply as he prepared to speak, “What do you want to know?”

“Everything,” she answered, exhaling a cloud of smoke as she leaned back on her chair, “And don’t tell me shit that I can get from reading your file. I want to know something personal.”

He shrugged, placing the lighter on top of the desk as he spoke, “Personal, huh?”

Y/N nodded in response, waiting for him to answer. His green eyes locked on hers as he answered with a tinge of shame, “I’ve never had a serious girlfriend.”

She tilted her head in shock, “Really?”

“Yeah, I told you last time we talked,” he said casually.

“No, you told me you haven’t found anyone worth your time,” she countered, leaning forward on her chair and pressing her elbows on the desk.

“Same thing; don’t get me wrong I’ve been with plenty of women, just no one that I was genuinely interested in or cared about, people called me cruel because of it but, like I said, I don’t like to waste my time,” he paused, taking a long drag from his cigarette, “Have you ever been in one?”

Y/N chuckled, casually taking another drag from her cigarette as she prepared to answer. Her mind wandered to her relationship with Patrick, and then her relationship with _both_ Henry and Patrick, “I wouldn’t say it was.”

Roman rubbed his chin as he prepared to speak, he leaned forward, holding the cigarette in between his fingers, “Why not?”

“Because it was the relationship that made me leave, coupled in with the fact that he was a psycho,” she answered nonchalantly thinking about Patrick and deciding to leave Henry out of the equation. It was one thing for Roman to know about a glimpse of her past, it was another for him to find out about her polyamorous relationship with both Henry Bowers and Patrick Hockstetter.

“I hope this isn’t out of line, but, you’ve never told me why you left all those years ago.”

Y/N exhaled deeply, recalling the first night they met and how the question he was asking now mirrored the question he asked then. She didn’t want to answer it then, and she didn’t want to answer it now, but, there was something that was nagging her to just tell him. He probably heard it from Greta and it would be better if he heard it from her instead of that gossip mongering bitch, “I made a promise to someone that I would leave and never come back.”

“Who’d you make the promise to?” Roman asked curiously, genuinely interested in knowing more about her.

Y/N stared at the ceiling as she brought the cigarette to her lips, recalling the touch of gentle hands on her own and the only ray of light, other than Henry, in all the darkness of her life. Her mind wandered to the days when she held her and sang to her as best as she could, even in her frail state; how she tried to protect her from her father and how her heart broke when she saw Y/N falling into a deep hole with Patrick Hockstetter.

The smell of cherry blossoms overcame her anytime she was near her, and even now, sitting across the desk from Roman, she could still smell her scent as strong as it was when she was a child, “My grandmother.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Roman nod slightly, “I heard the boys you were friends with were bad.”

“We all were,” she answered, still staring at the ceiling as she now thought about the things Henry, Patrick and herself got themselves into, things that her grandmother took to the grave with her, all to protect her.

“How?”

“A topic for another time, maybe,” she said, turning her head to look at him now, “Talking about the past exhausts me.”

“I get it,” he answered, prompting Y/N to tilt her head in confusion, “If it’s any consolation, I’m happy you left. If what I heard is true, you wouldn’t have become the person you are now, and regardless of how much shit you got going on, I think you’re a good person. And I _like_ this person.”

“You don’t even know me that well, Roman,” Y/N modestly said in response as she crushed the cigarette into the ashtray.

“No, but I’m starting to, and I like what I see.”

“You won’t if you knew everything about me,” she retorted.

“Try me,” he countered, crushing his cigarette next to Y/N’s in the ashtray, his fingers gently grazing her skin as his eyes trailed to her own Y/E/C eyes, locking his gaze with hers. His plump lips parted slightly as he gulped quietly, “Is it weird that I kind of want to kiss you right now?”

Y/N’s heart fluttered at his words. His eyes were twinkling with the reflection of the sun’s setting rays, intensifying his stare the longer he stared at her. She could see it in his eyes, how much he wanted to kiss her; the longing and the yearning to feel her lips on his, just as she felt it. She gulped quietly as he leaned over the desk, “Is it weird that I kind of want you to kiss me?”

Roman slowly leaned in to close the distance, and the sudden knock on the office door made him jump up in surprise. Composing herself, she called out to whomever was at the door, “Come in.”

Greta, who was chewing her gum obnoxiously eyed Roman’s flustered expression and Y/N’s annoyed look, she smirked knowingly as she answered, “There’s been a call out at Mr. Simms’s, Chief Carson wants you and Detective Godfrey on it.”

“Mr. Simms, the English teacher?” Y/N asked, recalling the quiet, gentle man that taught her English Literature in high school years ago.

“Yeah, the same one; he’s frantic, says he found a body on his property,” Greta said in a hushed tone, as if it was juicy gossip that she was sharing with her girlfriends.

Roman nodded towards Greta, “We’ll be on our way, thank you, Greta.”

“You’re welcome, Detective,” she said with a wink, and immediately showing the irritation on her face when Roman intentionally ignored her.

Y/N rolled her eyes at the woman, watching her as she closed the door behind her, “We should get going.”

“Yeah,” Roman whispered, quickly eyeing Y/N and pursing his lips as she returned his gaze. She could see the fear and hopelessness growing in his eyes, and even without going to the scene, she already knew who the body belonged to. She only hoped that she was wrong.

* * *

Y/N felt a sense of dread as she walked on Marty Simms’s property towards the deputies that taped off the area. Roman walked silently beside her, taking in the area around him as she asked the deputy beside the crime scene tape, “Where’s the body?”

The man glanced at her questionably, until she gently moved her coat aside to reveal her badge. He nodded, the realization hitting him, “Oh, you’re the agent they sent, I’m sorry. I should have known, but, Chief wants us to keep this tight, some news reporters have been trying to get through so you never know.”

Y/N nodded in response, holding out her hand to the young deputy, “Special Agent Y/N Y/L/N.”

His brows furrowed as he glanced at her a moment longer, the recollection of her filling in the pieces in his mind. He took her hand and smiled gently at her, “Deputy George Denbrough; I thought you looked familiar.”

Y/N tilted her head, finally recognizing the man whom she remembered as Bill Denbrough’s sweet little brother. She always had a soft spot for the kid, making sure Henry and Patrick never instilled the amount of torture on Bill’s younger brother. He glanced at Roman beside her, nodding towards the trail behind the tape, “Follow me.”

He ducked below the tape, followed by Y/N, and then Roman, “Has forensics been by?”

“They’re combing the area; Mr. Simms said he found the body at around 5 PM, and he called as soon as he could, but he’s got some blood pressure issues so it took him awhile to calm himself and call us,” Georgie went on, leading the way down the trail.

“What was he doing out here?” Roman asked, his eyes scanning the brush and trees around him.

“He told us he normally likes to take walks out here and read books down by the creek, he’s got a lawn chair out there for it,” Georgie answered, pointing towards a pack that was on the ground beside a melted down ice cream sandwich that began the process of melting, “He dropped those as soon as he saw the body and bolted. It’s down there.”

Y/N followed Georgie’s pointed hand towards the group of the forensics team observing the area, “Is Mike Hanlon here?”

“Yeah, he’s somewhere in there, I’m gonna head back; I saw that, and I really—I don’t want to see it again,” he said, sadly.

“It’s alright, kid,” Roman assured, his tone of voice paternal towards Georgie, “Go on back there, we got it from here.”

“Thanks, Detective,” Georgie graciously said, nodding towards Y/N as he left.

Y/N smiled meekly at him, turning to resume her pace down the trail. The clearing was beautiful, and it would have been serene if the people from the lab weren’t all observing every inch of the area, carefully placing markers on areas they deemed to be important.

The body was set in the opening to the clearing, carefully placed in the middle of the trail. The forensics team covered it with a white blanket, which was buzzing with flies hovering over it. Y/N kneeled down beside it, motioning for a forensics team technician to lift it for her.

Her insides turned as she glanced at the mangled body, or what was left of it, on the ground. Roman sighed heavily beside her, “Fuck.”

“Face is gone, and the eyes are too,” Y/N said, stating the obvious. She glanced at the body further, ignoring the terrible stench that was emanating from the skinless corpse, “He skinned her whole body.”

“Great observation,” Roman said with an edge of sarcasm.

Y/N glanced up at the tall man, taking note of his saddened expression. She motioned for the technician to cover the body as she stood up, “Are you alright?”

“We both know it’s Emily Hamill; I just—I just hoped we would find her alive,” he said, refusing to meet her gaze.

“I know,” Y/N whispered, gently grasping his arm, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“Special Agent Y/L/N, Detective Godfrey,” Y/N and Roman both looked up in sync, their eyes falling on Mike Hanlon as he made his way towards them, gently pushing aside his assistants.

“I take it the body was dumped here,” Roman said, that hint of sarcasm still lingering in his tone.

Mike didn’t seem to catch it, or he ignored it, as he continued, “Yes, but, she wasn’t here too long, my guess is, she was placed here hours before she was found; your killer was here today, we’re canvassing the grounds for clues, and so far, we found nothing, not even a shoeprint. The whole place was clean of any kind of footprints when we got here, seems like your killer doesn’t want us to know the size of shoe he wears.”

“Smart,” Roman mumbled.

“Not really, even if we did find what kind of shoe he wore, trying to find out who he is a long shot.”

“No, but it could rule out a list of potential suspects,” Y/N inferred, suddenly thinking about Henry and clearing his name.

Roman turned to her suspiciously, “Who would we rule out?”

Y/N shrugged, ignoring his question as she asked Mike, “Is there anything else you can tell us?”

“We’re trying to figure out which direction he came from; but like I said, he’s careful. I won’t know more about the body until I get to the lab but based on the how far rigor mortis has set in, I’d say she’s been dead a few days,” Mike said, motioning for the forensics team to place the body in a bad, “I’ll know more once I examine her. As much as I hate to say it, I think it’s safe to say that we found Emily Hamill.”

“Check the dental records, just to make sure,” Roman ordered.

“Of course; I’ll call you when I find something more from the body.”

Mike followed the technicians as they hauled the body out of the clearing on a stretcher inside of a black body bag. Roman’s eyes trailed after them as Y/N stood beside him, “I think we should question Mr. Simms.”

“Yeah.”

Roman led the way out of the trail as Y/N followed behind him, her eyes observing every inch of the brush for any possible clues. But, from where she was, it didn’t seem as though there were any, not that she could see without further inspection.

She ducked under the tape as Roman generously held it up for her, her eyes falling on the man sitting on his deck, a woman with silvery hair sitting beside him, gripping his hand gently as he spoke to Georgie Denbrough. A group of women were standing behind them, all of them standing close together as they caressed Mrs. Simms’s shoulders.

Y/N carefully climbed the wooden steps to the deck, observing the neat trimmed hedges around them and admiring the amount of natural shade the trees provided them with.

Mr. Simms’s eyes flew to her as soon as her heels hit the deck, startling him, “Apologies, I’m Special Agent Y/L/N, I’m with the FBI and this is Detective Godfrey. We’re the lead investigators on these murders.”

Mr. Simms shook his head as if he should have known, “I’m sorry, where are my manners? I’m Marty Simms, this is my wife Dolores, she’s the one that called. And these ladies are the members of her book club.”

“A pleasure,” Roman said, shaking hands with every single individual; Y/N followed suit, not wanting to seem like an asshole.

“If it’s not too much for you, Mr. Simms, we’d like you to answer a few questions,” Y/N started, pulling out a pen and a small notepad from her coat pocket.

“Of course,” he said, immediately beginning to stand, “Here, let me get you a seat.”

“It’s ok, I got it,” Roman said, gently urging the older man to stay seated as he fetched the cushioned deck chair on the far end. He placed it behind Y/N, allowing her to take a seat while he placed his arms on the edge of the chair.

“Thank you,” Marty said, clenching his hands, a natural response to stress as he no doubt was feeling loads of it at having discovered a body.

“Around what time did you head out into the trail?” Y/N began.

“Maybe 4:40? My wife made the call at around 5, after I came out of the woods,” he answered.

“Can you walk me through what happened prior to your discovery?”

“I came home from work; I teach at Derry High School, English Literature. I fed my cat, Mittens as my wife prepared my pack. She usually packs it for me while I take care of some household chores. When she was done, I packed my book and—and an extra ice cream sandwich,” he paused, eyeing his wife guiltily.

She grasped his hand gently, “Don’t worry about that right now dear, just tell them what happened.”

Marty nodded, sighing deeply as he continued, “I walked down the trail, and I saw a lumpy figure in the middle of the trail towards the opening of the clearing. I thought it was a bag or something, because sometimes teens like to do some illegal drinking out there without my consent and they leave a mess. I pulled on my glasses and noticed what it was.”

“Is that when you dropped your pack?” Roman asked.

“Yes,” he nodded, “I was scared, and I screamed. Then I ran—or I tried to run towards the house. I couldn’t breathe—so my wife got me my medication to calm me and she called 9-1-1 when I was able to explain what I found.”

“Okay,” Y/N said, jotting down points in her notepad, “You didn’t go further than the area where you dropped your pack?”

“No, no I was too afraid to go near it, and even from where I stood I could—I could smell—” Marty stopped in his tracks, trying to contain his panic.

His wife, Dolores, patted his back as she handed him a mug of warm tea, “It’s ok, darling, here, drink your tea. I’m sorry,” she apologized, her gentle seafoam blue eyes meeting Y/N’s, “He just needs a moment.”

“That’s fine,” Y/N said, “I think we have everything we need anyways. But we do need an official statement for our records, if you wouldn’t mind heading down to the station?”

Dolores looked over to her husband, “Are you up for that darling?”

“Yes, yes of course, anything I can do to help,” he said with a tone of conviction. Y/N couldn’t help but admire the older man’s resilient spirit; he was just as she remembered him all those years ago.

“Thank you, Mr. Simms, Mrs. Simms,” Roman said as politely as he possibly could. Y/N shook the older couple’s hands, smiling gently at them and hoping they didn’t notice the tattoos that peeked from beneath her rings.

She followed Roman down the stairs of the deck, sighing heavily as she mumbled under breath so no one but Roman could hear, “We can rule him out.”

“Were you seriously suspecting—”

“It was a joke, Roman,” Y/N quickly countered as they reached the bottom of the steps, “A tasteless one, sorry.”

Roman sighed heavily, pausing on the stone ground, “No, I’m sorry. I’m just… I’m not in the best mood right now, if we’re being honest.”

“I had no idea,” she jokingly said, prompting a small smirk from Roman.

“Oh, Detectives,” Mr. Simms called, making Y/N and Roman to turn and gaze at the man questioningly, “There’s one more thing I forgot to mention; I—I saw someone.”

Y/N’s eyes widened in response, her stare met Roman’s and he quickly climbed the steps again as he asked in a gentle, but urgent tone, “Where? Did you see what they looked like?”

Mr. Simms shook his head sadly, “I’m sorry, I didn’t. My glasses fell off when I was running. I turned and I saw someone wave at me from the brush across the creek.”

Roman stared at Y/N knowingly, and she nodded in response, “I’ll go check it out; Mr. Simms, please, give Detective Roman every possible detail you can put together about who you saw, if you can.”

“I will try,” he said.

Y/N nodded, speaking directly to Roman as she motioned for a forensics technician towards her, “I’ll meet you at the office.”

She turned, waltzing towards the crime scene once more as she pried the crime scene camera from the technician, impatiently huffing at the young man when he began to complain, “I’ll give it back to you later.”

Y/N was halfway across the lawn when she heard Roman’s voice behind her, “Wait, Y/N, are you sure you want to go alone?”

“I’ll be fine, Roman,” she answered, refusing to stop as she ducked under the tape.

“I know but—” he paused, gripping her arm tightly, “I’m just—it’s dangerous for you to go out there alone, this fucking serial killer could still be out there and it’s getting dark.”

“This is my job, Roman—”

“I know, I know,” he said, releasing his tight grip on her upon realizing how hard he was squeezing, “I’m sorry, I’m—look, can I please come with you? I’d feel better knowing you aren’t alone.”

Y/N’s heart fluttered as she caught the double meaning behind his words. His gaze was locked on hers, the worry and concern were as clear as day in them. She gingerly reached out, her hands grazing his own, “I’d feel better knowing the Simms have you around to take their statement, I can handle this. If I need you, you will be the first person I call.”

Roman exhaled heavily, not pleased with the answer, but also aware that he wasn’t going to change her mind, “Promise?”

Y/N chuckled, flattered at his concern, “I promise.”

Without a second thought, she turned down the trail. Hurriedly walking down the dirt winding trail, ignoring the lingering technician’s that still combed the area for any last-minute clues. She glanced at the brush across the stream, squinting as she noticed a small area where the branches of the brush were broken.

Unfazed by the idea of getting her boots and feet wet, she crossed the stream, wincing slightly at how cold the water was, _fucking Maine_.

Carefully, she observed the area around the brush, pulling out her flashlight to get a better look at the area around her now that the sun was beginning to go down. Her eyes glanced at the ground below, catching a partial footprint on the dirt below. She quickly snapped a picture with the camera, as she kneeled down to observe it.

The indentations weren’t too deep, giving light to the fact that the soles of whatever their killer was wearing were worn out.

“Great fucking observation, Y/N,” she whispered to herself, her eyes falling on the leaves beside her, noticing more broken branches. She turned, seeing a slight pattern begin to emerge and the shifted leaves on the ground, “He dragged her.”

Cautiously, she snapped a photo of the disturbed brush and leaves on the ground, following the trail that their killer left behind. The sky above began to turn into a light blue mixed in with purple and pink hues, giving way to the setting sun and the impending darkness that was to follow.

But she couldn’t rush this, she had to be patient and follow where her killer was leading her. She snapped photo after photo of any possible evidence, taking note of the continued disturbed brush in the forest.

After what seemed like an hour of waltzing down the trail, she finally emerged on the bank of the river. Her eyes following the water and her brows furrowing upon realizing that she was below the kissing bridge, “That son of a bitch dragged her the whole way.”

He drove in the middle of the day and dragged Emily Hamill’s body to be placed in a spot where he knew she’d be found. And no one saw a damn thing.

“Fuck that,” she said, refusing to admit that this was the end of the line. She climbed the side of the bank, making her way up to the road. Her feet sloshed in her wet boots as she walked on the hard surface of the road, hoping to find one clue. Any clue.

Her body shivered as she neared the old bridge, knowing full well that she would find not only her name carved on there, but Henrys… and Patrick’s.

She did her best to ignore the urge to look at it, but in the end, her willpower was weak as she glanced at the name on the bridge. Her breathing intensified the longer she stared at the carving of his name on the wooden surface of the rotting wood, recalling the day they all carved their names on there.

Y/N quickly shook her head, refusing to allow an onslaught of a flashback to overtake her again. Hurriedly she reached into her pockets for a her lighter and cigarette, grunting in frustration when she fumbled with the lighter in her hands and groaning when it fell on the ground.

She kneeled down, angrily grasping the lighter in her hands and lighting her cigarette. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of a dark brown spot on the gravelly ground. She shoved her lighter in her pocket and produced her flashlight, pointing the bright light at the speck on the ground.

“Son of a bitch,” she whispered, holding the cigarette tight between her lips as she snapped a picture of the drop of blood, and right beside it, was a full footprint indented into the ground, perfect and completely intact and undisturbed.

Her eyes glanced around the rest of the gravel, making sure that there weren’t other prints on the ground. And much to her delight, the footprint she found was the only footprint there. Smirking, she snapped a photo of the print, “I’m gonna get you, son of a bitch.”

She stood from her position, glancing around for more clues. But, she knew that their killer was careful, and it was pure luck that she found these two clues, looking for more would be overreaching.

Her eyes glanced at her watch, taking note of the time and the impending sunset. Quickly, she dialed the station, rolling her eyes at hearing Greta’s voice on the other end of the phone, “Yeah yeah, can you send the nearest unit to my location to pick me up, I’m at the kissing bridge.”

“Alright,” she said, setting the phone down and speaking into the dispatch. Once she got a hold of someone, Greta came back on the line, popping her gum over the phone as she spoke, “Deputy Denbrough is around the corner, he’s going to pick you up.”

“Great,” Y/N said, not bothering with any pleasantries. Greta didn’t deserve them, especially not from her. Moments later, she smiled as Georgie’s cruiser pulled up beside her. She quickly climbed in, greeting Georgie in a chipper tone, surprising even herself.

Although, if she was being honest. She was in a good mood, the clues she had weren’t much to go on, but they were a start, and it was better than nothing.

_Fucker isn’t as smart as he thinks he is_ , she thought, feeling like she had the upper hand this time and that she was one step closer to finding the killer she was looking for.

Unbeknownst to her, nestled in the brush on the opposite side of the kissing bridge where Y/N emerged, a pair of malicious eyes watched her every move curiously, and eagerly. He brought up a cigarette to his lips, smirking slyly as he watched her take his carefully laid clues out for her, playing her like the puppet she was.


	7. Tracks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: The usual gory shit. Language. Implications of prostitution. Kidnapping. Drugging. Alcohol use. Mentions of drug use.
> 
> A/N: Normally, I post a song that inspired this chapter, but honestly, I didn’t listen to shit while writing this one, so I apologize if it isn’t up to par. Anyways, hope you all enjoy this chapter. :3 Leave me your theories, I love to hear what you guys think.

Y/N glanced at the body with shaky breaths, she had seen it just hours earlier. But seeing what was left of Emily Hamill now that she was laid out on top of the examiner’s table sent shivers down her spine and a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach the longer she eyed the skinless, eyeless body that was once a beautiful young woman.

Beside her, Roman was stiff as he held the file in his hands, his eyes darting back and forth from the body to the photo of Emily, “You’re sure it’s her?”

His jewel green eyes met Mike’s dark ones as he handed him the printed piece of paper, “Dental records match, and we’ve crossed referenced it with the… face. It’s Emily Hamill,” he paused, taking in Roman’s defeated expression as he sighed sympathetically, “I’m sorry, detective.”

Roman shook his head as he held back the rage that was seeping through, “Cause of death is listed as hypovolemic shock… she was still alive when he did this to her?”

Mike nodded, “Hypovolemic shock occurs when the person suffers extreme blood loss. Take a look here,” he motioned as he pulled gloves on and leaned down to observe the body in front of him, “He started at the face, obviously. She was still alive when he was finished carving her face, and if you look at the rest of the body, he worked his way slowly downwards. It was careful, and very precise. But the amount of blood that she lost is ultimately what killed her.”

“Did you get anything else off the body?” Y/N asked, turning away from the body as her eyes found Mike’s.

He shook his head, “We’ve done everything we could and there are no traces of anyone else’s DNA. I’ll keep looking, maybe we can find something.”

“Thank you, Mike,” Y/N said, turning towards the door and nudging Roman to follow, “Call me if you happen to find anything at all.”

Roman closed the file in front of him as he followed after her, his lips pursed tightly as his eyebrows scrunched together, “We could have saved her.”

“Roman,” Y/N started, pausing in the hallways as she gently grasped Roman’s elbow, “Don’t. She was already dead.”

Roman sighed deeply, eyeing her as he lifted his head and groaned. He was trying to remain calm, and although he was obviously distraught over Emily’s death, his eyes softened the longer he stared at her. His eyes left her own stare momentarily, as he slowly glanced at her arm on his elbow, “I know, but—”

He paused, inhaling deeply as he turned and leaned against the wall, pushing his hair back from his face while he gently stroked her hand on his elbow with his free hand, “I could’ve tried harder. I feel like I haven’t done my job adequately.”

Y/N pursed her lips as her own fingers grazed the palm of Roman’s hand, their fingertips dancing over each other as she spoke, “It’s not your fault Roman. This guy— whoever he is, knows what he’s doing. But they leave clues behind, always. In the most unlikely places. He’s not as clever as he thinks he is.”

“Are you just saying that to make me feel better?” he asked, his tongue slightly dancing over his lips in an attempt to moisturize them.

Y/N chuckled lightly, “Is it working?”

“Not really,” he answered, smirking back at her and grasping her hand in his, bringing it to his lips as he planted a soft, gentle kiss on her wrist, “But I’m glad you’re trying.”

She felt her heart flutter at the motion as she began to lose herself in those jewel green eyes of his, so intense and gentle. She wanted so much to kiss him, but right now wasn’t the time. She understood where Roman was coming from; as she felt the same way. Since she had arrived she had been fixated on Henry Bowers and trying to make things right with him instead of doing her job.

Doubtless, Emily Hamill would still probably be dead.

But after her mistake of sleeping with Henry, she knew now, that whatever problems they had could wait. She had one job, and she had lost focus, but maybe with Roman… maybe she could regain her focus.

She sighed heavily, gently pulling her hand away from Romans grasp as she cleared her throat, “But I was being honest. People like him, who like to stalk their victims, they always leave a clue behind.”

Roman nodded, pushing himself away from the wall as he began to lead her back to the office, “It’s a game.”

“He sent us Emily’s eyes for a reason, and her skin. He was taunting is, obviously,” she started, lowering her voice when they reached the squad room, “He wanted us to know he had her. He sent the note, he wants us to know he’s watching us. We found a clue in Emily’s diary, but that’s only going to take us so far—"

She was cut off as Roman held an arm in front of her, his eyes fixated on the elderly couple sitting by an officer’s desk in the squad room, “Emily Hamill’s parents.”

Y/N glanced at the couple; they were distraught, their eyes puffy from lack of sleep as dark circles framed their eyes. Emily’s mother was lost in her thoughts as she stared blankly to the distance while Mr. Hamill grasped his wife’s hand tightly, his demeanor hard and his facial expression stoic as he tried not to succumb to the reality of the news he was about to get.

She glanced up at Roman, his Adam’s apple moving up and down as he swallowed hard trying to gain his composure and gather his courage to tell the parents their daughter was dead.

“Roman,” Y/N started, gently rubbing the small of his tense back, “I can do it. You’ve done this enough already—"

“No,” he breathed, “No, I have to do it. They came to me with the missing person’s report. _I_ need to do it. I _have_ to.”

Y/N was prepared to fight him on it, he didn’t need to carry that weight with him. But before she could push the subject further, Roman’s long legs had already taken him halfway across the room as Y/N rushed to catch up with him.

The Hamill’s immediately stood up when they caught Roman’s tall figure making his way towards them. Their eyes clung to him hopefully; they stared at him like he was their savior and he would deliver them from this hell they were living in.

Roman shook his hand out, grasping the elderly couple’s hands as he began to speak in a gentle tone, “Mr. Hamill, Mrs. Hamill, this is my partner, Special Agent Y/L/N; she was sent here to help with the case.”

The elderly couple glanced at Y/N as they graciously shook her hand. Their eyes darted back to Roman, who was staring at them with gentle eyes. Mrs. Hamill was the first to speak, “We saw on the news that a body was found on Mr. Simms’ property, is that true, detective?”

Y/N’s eyes fell on Roman as he remained calm and spoke in a level voice, “It is true, we wanted to make sure beforehand however—”

“Was it her?” Mrs. Hamill interrupted, fed up with the run around and the coddling.

Roman pursed his lips as he answered, “The dental records match; it was Emily.”

Y/N quickly reached out as Mrs. Hamill fell to her knees, wrapping the older woman in a tight, but gentle embrace as she, along with Roman and Mr. Hamill carefully led her towards the chair. Georgie Denbrough, who was watching the interaction in the distance, quickly came to their aid with a small plastic cup of cool water. He nodded reassuringly towards Roman and Y/N as he made his way back to his desk, shuffling piles of paperwork around.

“Drink this,” Y/N gently urged.

Mrs. Hamill grasped the cup in her hands, taking a small sip. Slowly calming herself. She took a deep breath, holding the cup tightly as she started, “Was it him? The serial killer?”

Roman nodded, “We have every reason to believe so.”

“Did she suffer?” Mr. Hamill asked, his voice was hard and void of any emotion, as if he was numbing himself towards the pain.

Y/N glanced at Roman, who was having a hard time answering his question, prompting Mrs. Hamill to intervene with a statement, “I want to see her.”

Roman and Y/N glanced at each other, “Mrs. Hamill—"

“Don’t patronize me, young man,” she snapped at Roman, repeating her previous statement, “I want to see her, I want to see _my daughter_.”

Roman stammered momentarily, until finally, Y/N jumped in, “Mrs. Hamill, you are aware that she was taken by a serial killer? You have some idea, based on the local news about what he’s done to previous women correct?”

Mrs. Hamill furrowed her brows at Y/Ns boldness, seemingly caught off guard by the fact that she was not coddling her in any way. Y/N awaited her answer, lifting her brows as Mrs. Hamill solemnly nodded yes.

“The woman in the medical examiner’s office, your daughter, she is not as she was.”

“She’s my daughter, not some random streetwalker— I want to see her!”

The elderly woman was shouting now, Mr. Hamill gently massaged her back in an effort to calm her. Y/N sighed, gently sitting on the edge of the desk as she prepared to lay some truth to the grieving mother in front of her, “Be that as it may. I would advise against it. Now, I can’t stop you from seeing her, but I will tell you this, any identification you think you can make by glancing upon her face will be useless. I suggest that for your sake, you do not see what has been done to your daughter.”

Mrs. Hamill’s tears dropped from her eyes as she quietly sobbed, “I need to see for myself— I need to say goodbye to her.”

Y/N pursed her lips, understanding now why Roman was taking this personally. Having to face the families of dead women who want details of their daughter’s death, and to see them after what this killer did to their bodies… it took courage, and she suddenly had a newfound respect for the detective as he went through this so many times before Y/N arrived.

Mr. Hamill pulled her in for a tight hug. His light blue eyes met Y/Ns sympathetic stare as he gently asked, “What did he do to her?”

Y/N hesitated, not wanting to give the couple the gory details of their daughter’s death. Sensing her reluctance, Mr. Hamill pressed, “Our daughter is dead. You will not let us see her, the least you could do is tell us how she died; no matter how bad or painful it might be, we deserve to know.”

Roman turned now, refusing to meet the couple’s heartbroken stares. Y/N sighed deeply, “The official cause of death was due to hypovolemic shock; essentially, it means that your daughter died from blood loss.”

“Blood loss? What did he do to her?”

She sighed heavily, she tried to make her voice as sympathetic and gentle as possible before she laid the horrendous news on them. She steadied her voice to keep from stuttering, but the heartbreak in the parent’s eyes made her fumble over her words, losing whatever confidence she had, she answered, “He— he removed her— skin.”

The last word came out as a mumble, but the Hamills heard her clearly as they stared at her in shock and horror. Mrs. Hamill’s hands, the ones the gripped the cup for dear life, now loosened as the cup of water fell on the ground, splashing a puddle of water on the floor.

Roman quickly shrugged his coat off, tossing it on the ground as he tried to remain calm.

Mrs. Hamill gasped loudly as the news sunk in, her mouth opened in a silent shout as fresh tears escaped her eyes. Roman immediately came to her side, lightly grasping her as she tried to get to her feet, “I need air.”

“Is that ok?” Roman asked Mr. Hamill.

“Y— yes that’s fine. I’ll finish up here, sweetheart,” he said as he watched Roman lead his wife away with sad eyes. His gaze fell on Y/N as he continued, “What— um, is there anything you need from us?”

Y/N rubbed her hands together as she asked, “Mr. Hamill, Emily mentioned in her journal that she met a young man. Would there be anything you can tell us about that?”

Mr. Hamill’s brows furrowed as he leaned forward on the chair, “No, I didn’t even know she met someone. She was always so… private, when it came to her personal life. Truth be told, we hadn’t spoken to her in weeks. She and her mother didn’t get along too well.”

Y/N tilted her head, feeling that he was going to say something of importance, “How do you mean?”

Mr. Hamill sighed, rubbing his tired eyes as he answered, “Emily had a problem. A drinking problem. Her mother and I tried to get her some help, but she refused to admit there was a problem. Gina had cut her off when Emily was seen hanging around the local bar with some delinquents, from what I recall, one of them was Butch Bower’s kid.”

Y/N’s heart beat hard in her ears as she took in the words that he spoke to her. She held her breath, trying not to let her emotions betray her, “Henry Bowers?”

Mr. Hamill nodded, “Yeah, he’s got quite the reputation. And our family is held on high status, so to be _seen_ fraternizing with a boy like _him_ … it didn’t sit well with Gina. When Gina confronted her, they had a big fight and they cut off contact with each other. She refused to talk to me too because I ‘ _took her mother’s side’_.”

His eyes trailed to his hands in his lap, “I wish she would have— I should have tried harder.”

Y/N reached out towards him, squeezing his shoulder as she spoke, “You’re not responsible for this. _He_ is. And I will do everything in my power to find him.”

Mr. Hamill tried his best for a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes as he continued to twiddle his thumbs, “When can we bury her?”

“It’ll probably be a few more days, the medical examiner is trying to see if we can get anything else that could lead us to him,” she paused, standing up as he did so, “But, if it’s any help, we’ll try to see what we can do about making her… presentable for you and Mrs. Hamill, so you can say goodbye.”

“That would be greatly appreciated,” he said as he shook her hand graciously, “You have a good night, ma’am. Keep her as long as you need to, find the person that did this to my daughter.”

Y/N nodded once in response, watching him as he left the building with the eyes of every officer in the room on him. Still, he walked tall, even though inside she could see that he was broken.

Y/N sighed heavily as she tried to make sense of the information that was just given to her. She slowly made her way to her office, quietly closing the door behind her as she made a quick run through of the bar in town. It was the only bar there, and it happened to be the one that Henry and Roman fought at when she first arrived. Where she saw him surrounded by a group of men that she wasn’t familiar with.

_They should have cameras_ , Y/N thought to herself as she scribbled a note on a blank piece of paper to remind herself about the bar.

She didn’t want to think about the repercussions this would have if she didn’t tell Roman. But, she didn’t want to tell him for fear that he might get too heated and pick another fight with Henry. And she couldn’t risk that happening, God only knew what Henry would say to spite Roman… including what they had done the previous night.

No, she had to keep this to herself. Until she could write Henry off. Even then, she didn’t want to believe that he had anything to do with Emily Hamill’s disappearance… or her murder. Still, she couldn’t deny that this only made him look even more guilty, especially considering the fact that he never told her.

Then again, it wasn’t as if she formally questioned him about it.

_No, all you did was fuck him_ , she told herself.

Frustration and regret began to overtake her as she held her head in her hands, rubbing her temples to figure out what she was going to do now.

Henry wasn’t going to like that she was questioning him. From their previous interactions, he would only make her feel guilty for even questioning his innocence.

_You could always tell Roman_ , she told herself.

As if by some form of higher power, Roman quietly entered the office, slowly making his way towards the desk and sitting on one of the leather chairs opposite of her, “Mrs. Hamill is a mess.”

“As is her right,” Y/N responded, “I’m sorry I gave them the details.”

“It’s better this way, most of the families I’ve had to deal with always pushed to see their daughters, sisters; only for them to regret seeing them in such a horrific way. Not something you want to remember for the rest of your life,” he said, leaning back on the chair and lighting a cigarette. He inhaled the smoke slowly, allowing his body to relax as he closed his eyes, scratching at a spot between his eyebrows, “Did Mr. Hamill give you anything that we could use?”

_Now’s your chance_ , she thought, _tell him. He could question Henry. He would do it right this time, if you asked him to be professional._

Instead, she shook her head, “No. Nothing. Only that they haven’t spoken to her in weeks.”

“Did he tell you why?”

Y/N shrugged, falling back in her chair as well as she answered, “Emily Hamill was an alcoholic. They tried to get her to get help and I guess they had a falling out over that.”

“She didn’t strike me as one,” Roman said, his brows furrowing, “We didn’t even see bottles in her home.”

“That’s because we weren’t looking for them,” Y/N sighed, scratching at the back of her ear, “But, most of her journal entries have something with alcohol use in them.”

Roman leaned forward, a thought bright in his mind as he started, “Do you think he was at the bar? I mean, if he was we’d be able to—”

“Our killer isn’t _that_ stupid. It was specifically mentioned that she ran into him on the sidewalk,” she said, trying to stray him from going to the bar before she could. She had to make sure she crossed Henry off first.

“Yeah, but he could have followed her _from_ the bar.”

“Roman,” Y/N sighed, “If that was the case, I think someone would have told us that she was being followed. She left the bar with her friends and walked off without them. They never mentioned anything about anyone following her. They didn’t even see anything suspicious the night she was taken or any other night before that.”

Roman exhaled deeply, banging his head on the edge of the desk as his irritation grew. Y/N glanced at him anxiously, waiting for another argument. Instead, Roman picked up his head, his jewel eyes meeting hers as he nodded while he took a long drag from his cigarette, “You’re right. I’m fucking grasping at straws here.”

“We’ll find him, one way or another. I told you, men like him leave clues in unlikely places,” Y/N assured.

He sighed heavily, leaning his elbows on his knees. His eyes closed momentarily while he spoke, “You know, I’ve had to break the news to three different families. And you’d think it would get easier with every case… but it never does.”

He paused, finishing up his cigarette and crushing it into the ashtray, “How did you do it? How did you break the news to the families of the victims?”

“The truth?” she asked.

Roman nodded, staring intently at her as he awaited her answer, his hands gripping the edges of the chair as she cleared her throat, “I never did. My job is to _find_ the killer, not deal with the mourning families of the victims. I never broke the news to anyone. I analyze, connect the dots, find patterns and put the pieces of a puzzle together. That’s it.”

“So, this was your first time then?”

Y/N nodded, “It was.”

“And how do you feel?”

She bit her bottom lip as she contemplated her answer. _How did she feel?_

“Determined,” she answered. Roman’s brows furrowed at her answer, and she continued, “I have to try harder. We couldn’t save Emily. But, maybe we can save another girl if we uncover more clues from Emily’s body.”

“ _If_ ,” Roman said with skepticism.

“ _If_ ,” Y/N repeated, nodding as her eyes fell on the board. Emily’s photo, along with the crime scene photos and Mr. Simms’ accounts of his discoverery of her body would be added on there after the film that contained the new found evidence was developed.

“You said you found a speck of blood by the ‘ _kissing bridge’_?” he asked, tilting his head at the strange name given to the bridge.

“Yes, along with a full footprint in the gravel,” she answered, “It isn’t much, but it’s something to go on. Mike Hanlon headed down there as soon as I found it; apparently our killer has a size 11 foot.”

“Should narrow it down,” Roman joked, “We should round up all the size 11 men in Derry.”

“Revival of the witch hunts,” Y/N said sarcastically, “It could be useful if we ever bring in a suspect.”

“You sound doubtful; I thought you were determined,” Roman sniped.

Y/N scoffed, twiddling her thumbs as she retorted, “I am, but, we don’t really have much to go on here.”

Roman nodded, lowering his eyes to the ground. The silence in the room was deafening, and it seemed like hours had passed when Roman finally decided to break the silence, “We can always go question the families again.”

Y/N’s brows knitted in confusion, “I thought you didn’t want to do that.”

“I don’t,” he admitted, tilting his head slightly, “But, we found our most important clue from Emily’s journal. Maybe we could find more from the rest of the girls.”

“Roman, we don’t have to—”

“Yes, Y/N, we do. We have to. My morals lost us ground and a person, I won’t let it happen again, not when we could prevent this from happening to another woman,” he stubbornly replied. His mouth was pressed in a thin line, and his back was straight as she sat up, giving her the indication that he made up his mind, and he was going to go through with it.

Y/N nodded, leaning forward on her desk as she opened the files of the previous three victims, “So, who do we start with?”

* * *

It was late afternoon when Y/N had decided to call it for the day, convincing Roman that she preferred to be alone when she was analyzing the files in place. Luckily, he didn’t object to her leaving, as he was busy trying to get in touch with the families of Sasha Wilson, Jenica Torrez and Mary Ann Feinstein.

The key word being trying.

Roman kept her thoroughly updated on the Feinstein’s, who informed Roman they had no interest in speaking to them. It was as Roman said, they were still mourning the loss of their daughter. She didn’t blame them, after having to inform the Hamill’s about Emily’s death, she grasped the idea that maybe losing someone that meant the world to a person would result in their undoing.

She only needed to look at Patrick’s file to make her point. She only needed to see Henry’s glare as well.

Which was something she wasn’t looking forward to, if she was being honest. Still, it was something that she had to do; she couldn’t rely on Roman to do it, considering she had made the fucked up decision to lie to him.

Her car rumbled in the driveway as she pulled in, watching the old farmhouse carefully; her eyes scanning the grounds as she searched for Henry. Sighing deeply and mentally preparing herself for what was going to be another fight, she shut off the engine. Lighting a cigarette, she feebly pushed the door open, pushing off her sunglasses to get a better view of the property.

The door shut with a slam behind her as she lazily made her way towards the warehouse, where she found him working on another vehicle, his legs were the only visible physical feature as the rest of his body laid on the creeper underneath the car.

“I assume you’re busy,” Y/N started, trying to make her tone sound friendly enough.

Henry’s body immediately tensed, and he slid out from underneath the car. She was met with skeptical blue eyes and a face smeared with dirt and oil. He stared at her momentarily, she could see the internal struggle within him, no doubt still fuming from the fight they had a day ago, “Are you here on official pig business or are you here to apologize for bein’ an asshole?”

Y/N’s brows raised as her eyes widened in surprise, “ _I’m_ the asshole?”

Henry sighed as he sat up on the creeper, his hands toyed with the wrench in his hands as he gazed up at her with suspicious eyes, “You said some pretty fucked up shit. And you haven’t even bothered to call.”

“I don’t have your number.”

“House phone is still the same,” he retorted, “And I think you’d be able to find that information in your cop files if you looked.”

She exhaled heavily as she stuffed her hands into the pockets of her black trench coat. He wasn’t going to let it go, that much she was sure of. Besides, if she apologized, maybe she could ease into the real reason why she was here in the first place. He might be happier if he got an apology, and he might be more willing to speak to her as to why he was fraternizing with Emily Hamill.

_Might._

“I said some fucked up things, Henry. I didn’t mean to—And I didn’t mean to hit you. I’m just—” she paused, realizing that she was at a loss for words. She spent the majority of her time in Derry apologizing and here she was again, trying to convince Henry that she didn’t mean what she said, she didn’t mean to hit him. But that was a lie, because some small part of her did mean it.

Still, she had to get to the bottom of the situation with Emily, and she swallowed hard as she continued, “I’m sorry, Henry. I really am. For everything.”

Henry’s hard stare examined her closely until he finally stood up. Tossing the wrench down on the concrete that it landed with a clatter, his free oily hand reached for hers, gently grasping it as he pressed his forehead against hers, “It’s alright. I was bein’ an asshole too. I’m sorry.”

Y/N scoffed as she suppressed a small smile, “You had a right to be one, I didn’t.”

He pressed a gentle kiss on her forehead as he pulled her in close to him. He squeezed her tightly, sighing in relief that she was in his arms again. Y/N found herself being drawn to him as her arms wrapped around him in return; she inhaled the scent of dirt, oil and sweat from his shirt. It was a smell that she had grown accustomed to, it was a smell that reminded her that she was safe, here in his arms.

She inhaled deeply, reminding herself why she was here in the first place. Hesitantly, she pulled herself away from Henry’s embrace. He stared down at her, the look of suspicion returning in his eyes as he cleared his throat, “Where’s your partner?”

“Busy,” she answered as Henry lit a cigarette.

He took a long drag, finally exhaling as he proceeded to ask, “So you here to shoot the shit, then?”

Y/N shrugged, “I guess so.”

Henry shot her a tiny half smile as he brought the cigarette up to his lips while he reached for a dirty rag to wipe his hands with, “You want a drink?”

She nodded, slowly synching in step with him as he motioned for her to follow him into the old Bowers home. She admired the house in it’s countryside beauty; if she wasn’t aware of the history of the home, she might have even guessed that this was paradise.

It was anything but that. She knew the secrets that laid inside the house, and she mentally prepared herself for the onslaught of a floor littered in beer bottles and cigarettes as Henry pulled the screen door opened and waltzed inside.

Much to her surprise however, the home was somewhat clean, if she could call it that. The furniture that had cigarette burns and the musty smell of old beer was gone and replaced with plain brown leather couches. The windows in the house were pushed open, allowing the cool Maine breeze to fill the home in a refreshing, comfortable aura.

The old wallpaper was torn off and covered over with simple white paint, photos of Henry’s mother that weren’t around when she was younger now covered the wall sparsely. The weights that Henry used as a teen were still in the same area, although, from the looks of it she guessed that he invested in a newer set.

Her eyes followed Henry to the kitchen, where the same color paint that coated the living room followed. The kitchen table that was centered in the room was now a smooth wood round table. She could scarcely feel the presence of Butch in the home, it was as if he never even existed; there wasn’t even a beer stain on the wall to prove that he was even alive at one point.

She observed closely as Henry reached into the refrigerator and pulled out two bottles of Budweiser. He twisted the caps off, lazily making his way towards Y/N as he handed her the cool beer. He awkwardly took a long chug as he threw himself on the couch, propping his boots on the water stained coffee table, fragments of dirt falling off the smooth bottoms of his boots and onto the table.

Y/N took a tiny sip of her beer as she took a seat on the dusty leather brown recliner while Henry took another long drag from his cigarette, “You’ve changed the place up.”

“Yeah,” he shrugged, ashing his cigarette on the ashtray that laid on the coffee table.

“I’m surprised Butch let you keep the house,” Y/N pointed, recalling Butch’s cruel treatment towards Henry. The fact that Butch was dead and Henry inherited the house was… odd. To say the least.

Henry snickered, his blue eyes meeting Y/N’s steady gaze as he began to explain, “He didn’t leave me shit. That son of a bitch left me in so much debt that I had to ask for a loan to keep the house. Should’a let it go, but it just—it didn’t feel right.”

“With everything that happened it would feel right, to me at least,” Y/N said, taking another sip from her beer.

“Not everyone is quick to pick up their shit and just leave, Y/N. This is my house, it’s mine now. Way I see it, Butch was just holding on to it.”

Y/N winced at his sneak attack. His eyes weren’t malicious or angry, they were sincere and she decided for the sake of not arguing any more than she was about to, to drop it and let it roll of her shoulders. Even though the comment made her seethe on the inside.

“It looks nicer though, I like it better this way,” she complimented, trying her best to flash him a friendly smile.

Henry smirked gently back at her. His hands reached out and crushed the remaining cigarette in his hands inside the ashtray while he chugged down the remains of his beer. Once he was finished, the gently set the bottle on the coffee table as he sat forward, a glint of mischievousness twinkling in his eyes, “Wanna see the bedroom?”

Y/N chuckled softly as she tried to figure out a way to ask him about Emily Hamill without pissing him off.

The thing was, there was no getting around it. She sighed as she took a drink from her beer, chugging the bottle completely to gain some courage, even if it was fake. She set the empty bottle down on the coffee table, prepping herself for the question she was about to ask, “Henry, did you know Emily Hamill?”

Henry’s smile immediately dropped at the mention of the name. The look of lustful playfulness was gone as it was replaced by his stoic, angry expression that was his defining expression. This was the Henry Bowers that the people of Derry feared, “And here I thought you were here to actually spend time with me.”

He immediately got to his feet, stomping towards the kitchen and yanking the refrigerator door open as he pulled out another bottle of beer. He quickly twisted the cap off, his foot giving the door a harsh kick that made it slam shut, the contents inside rattling from the force.

Y/N carefully pushed herself off the recliner, her eyes observing the tense muscles beneath Henry’s shirt. He stood with both of his hands on the counter; his fingers gripped the edges of the counter tight as his knuckles turned pale white, “I don’t know her. Never did. I’ve seen her around, but that’s about it.”

His voice was still as he answered and void of any and all emotion. He took a quick drink from his beer as he turned to face her now. Y/N gulped, knowing that now the beast was untamed, and she had to tread carefully if she hoped to get any information from him. She sighed quietly, slowly making her way towards him, “Henry… you were seen having drinks with her.”

Henry turned swiftly, he stalked towards her, the beer gripped tightly in his hand as he seethed, “And who told you this shit? Someone that looks down on me? Another one of Derry’s _finest_ citizens?”

“It doesn’t matter who told me Henry, fact of the matter was that you were seen with her! Do you know what this means? You’ve withheld information that could have cleared you—”

“Oh, so I’m still a suspect?!”

“You’ve _always_ been a suspect Henry!”

“Funny how you forgot that when I was in your room the other night; I wasn’t a fucking suspect then, right?”

Y/N’s jaw dropped, and her eyes widened at his words, “That isn’t fair, Henry. This isn’t about that—”

“Then what is it about?! Do you think I fucking killed that girl?! Is that what you think, Y/N?! Huh?!” he asked, enraged.

“It’s not about what I think, Henry! It’s about the facts!”

“Tell me the facts then! Tell me that you fucking think I killed her!” he shouted, a vein in his neck popping out as he did so, droplets of spit landing on her face.

“I never said you killed her Henry—”

“No, but you think I did! Why else would you be here asking me why I was getting drunk with her at a bar?!”

“Well it looks fucking suspicious Henry! You were already on the list of suspects beforehand and now they have more reason to suspect—”

“They, or _you_?”

“ _They_ , Henry!” she shouted, not caring for restraint anymore. Although, she wasn’t being entirely honest, there was a part of her that did suspect him now.

“Lemme tell you something, Miss FBI, I wasn’t the only one at that bar that night, and if I did have drinks with the bitch, I don’t fucking remember. I go to the bar for one fucking reason, and that’s to get fucked up drunk. Ask anyone that was there that night if I left with her. Fucking do your job as a fucking agent of the law and go _prove_ that it was me!”

“I told you, I don’t think you—”

“STOP FUCKING LYING TO ME!”

He was beyond angry now, that much was obvious as he tossed a lamp on the wall. Y/N flinched as she watched it break to pieces on the ground. Henry stalked towards her, grabbing her by the shoulders as he pushed her aside, towards the door, “GO!”

Y/N pushed his hands off of her shoulders, her own anger beginning to rise as she pointed a finger at him, scowling when she warned, “Don’t you dare lay your hands on me, Henry Bowers.”

Henry clenched his teeth, glaring in her direction as he roughly pulled the door open and pushed the screen door hard that it hit the outside wood of the house, “Get your ass off my property now and don’t ever fucking come back unless you got a warrant for my arrest.”

“Seriously, Henry? I’m trying to do my job here—”

“And you’re doing a fucking terrible job at it, if you were as smart as you think you are you would open your eyes and see the fucking truth. But you’re so fucked up that you don’t even wanna admit to yourself what’s real and what’s not—” he paused, stopping himself mid sentence as he glanced off towards the distance, biting his bottom lip. He stalked past her, holding the screen door open as he motioned for her to get out of his house, his angry blue eyes ignoring her gaze as she glanced at him in surprise.

“Henry, I’m sorry, I just— I’m just trying to do the right thing here. I’m trying to get to the bottom of this—”

“I’m not gonna ask you or tell you again, Y/N. Get the fuck out.”

_Shit_. She fucked up. She knew it. There were other ways to get the information she needed, why she had come to Henry to get the truth was beyond her. She should have known this would happen.

Y/N glanced at her feet, swallowing hard as she exited the house. She turned to get a last look at him, maybe even apologize to him and explain, but the door slammed shut behind her and the sound of a clicking lock was all the explanation she needed. He didn’t want to speak with her.

She sighed heavily as she pulled out a pack of cigarettes from her coat. Angrily, she flicked the lighter on as she puffed the nicotine stick to life, beating herself up for this stupid idea that she had. Still, she could always pull the bar’s security cameras.

If she could do that, then why had she gone through the trouble of confronting Henry?

Was it so she could see for herself if he was lying?

No, she already knew why she had done it. She had began to suspect him as well, with how defensive he had gotten, but a small part of her was trying to warn him. To protect him. If he was responsible, she was giving him a chance to come clean and she could help him.

Henry was stubborn, however. And he made it perfectly clear that he never wanted to see her again.

Defeated, she stalked across the porch and down the steps towards her car, angrily pulling the car door open and slamming it shut behind her. The loud engine of her car roared to life, her eyes falling on the house once more as the interior filled with smoke from her cigarette, wafting around her and enveloping her in the harsh scent.

She saw the tiniest of movements from the second floor window as a curtain was being shifted back in place, but thought nothing of it as she drove off, leaving a large cloud of dust behind her.

* * *

The house was a lovely ranch style home with a detached one car garage towards the back of the property. Y/N flicked her cigarette towards the street, not daring to pollute the carefully kept lawn, “Do you remember the questions I told you to ask them?”

“Relax, Y/N, I got this,” Roman assured her as he shut the passenger door behind him and carefully walked towards the driveway, where he met Y/N.

“I’m starting to feel that this is a mistake,” Y/N confessed as they walked side by side towards the small porch that was carefully decorated with a variety of flowers.

Roman sighed, gently reaching out for Y/N’s hand, giving it a firm but gentle squeeze, “They understand; they’re willing to help with whatever they can.”

She nodded, reassuring herself that this was the best possible way to get some answers. Roman was the first to ascend the steps, softly rapping on the door while Y/N waited beside him.

The door opened momentarily; a young girl, no older than the age of 14 answered. Dark circles covered her under eyes, her tawny beige complexion was not as luminous as it should have been. The dark chocolate eyes that resembled Jenica’s stared back at them, waiting. Her eyes shifted to Roman, a sudden memory clicking in her head as she called out behind her, “ _Mama_ , they’re here.”

Immediately, an older woman with the same tawny beige complexion and a tired expression appeared behind her; her dark hair held streaks of white as it was pulled back in a tight bun. Y/N couldn’t help but feel sad as she observed her; she looked beyond exhausted, her chocolate brown eyes were empty, the smile that she forced her lips to pull was strained. Still, there was a sense of resilience in her. She greeted Roman with a tired smile, taking his hand and pulling him in for a hug, “Detective Godfrey, it’s so good to see you again.”

“Likewise Mrs. Torrez, I do wish it was under different circumstances—”

She waved his apology aside, ushering him and Y/N inside as she started in spanish, “ _No es problema_ , _mijo_. Can I get you some coffee and cake? Renaldo just made a trip to the bakery so we have some fresh cakes and cookies.”

“Yes, please,” Roman smiled tenderly accepting the offer as Mrs. Torrez led them into the living room.

She glanced at her daughter, Jovanna, and very briefly spoke to her in spanish. Jovanna left the room and returned moments later with four mugs, creamer, a small box of artificial sweetener, and a steaming hot coffee pot on top of a platter. She carefully set them down on the coffee table next to a large plate of cookies and cake as Roman and Y/N took a seat on the soft suede forest green couch.

“Mrs. Torrez, this is Special Agent Y/L/N, she’s been sent down to help with the investigation,” Roman

“Nice to meet you,” Mrs. Torrez said, holding her hand out to Y/N in greeting. Y/N grasped her hand and tried to give her a gently reassuring squeeze, just as Roman had done to her earlier. Her hand was cold, and somewhat clammy, though her grip on the coffee pot and mugs were steady as she poured a steady stream of coffee into them, “I understand you have some more questions about _mija_.”

Y/N gulped softly as she removed her sunglasses, her eyes holding Mrs. Torrez’s gaze as she took the mug that the gentle, older lady offered to her, “Yes ma’am, and I apologize for that. I know it must be difficult, but in order to get an understanding of the person we’re dealing with, we need to retrace our steps, cover all possible areas.”

She nodded tiredly as she handed Roman his mug, who took it gratefully as he apologized, “I do want you to know Mrs. Torrez that we wouldn’t bother you with such—”

“It’s not a bother,” she quickly interrupted, motioning for Jovanna to leave the room. She waited until she heard a door somewhere in the house close shut, “Whatever you think will help you find who did this.”

Y/N glanced around the living room, tuning out the conversation between Roman and Mrs. Torrez. In the corner of the living room was a small high table with a shelf above it. It was neatly put together with marigolds in small glass vases on either side, candles with photos of Jesus Christ on the glass and a Virgin Mary statuette praying. On the high table, photos of Jenica covered the surface along with one black rosary necklace spread out on the surface. Her brows furrowed in curiosity as she glanced at a framed piece of paper with scribbled handwriting.

She felt a sudden emptiness the longer she glanced at the tiny corner that was littered with reminders of a young girl long gone. The feeling hit a little too close to home… _why this girl?_

“… like I told you before, _mijo_. She wasn’t close to us, we don’t know anything about a boy,” Mrs. Torrez said, pulling Y/N back into the conversation.

“Mrs. Torrez,” Y/N started, taking a sip of the hot coffee and feeling warm inside, the feeling of emptiness subsiding slightly, “I hate to ask, but would it be fine if I searched her room?”

She nodded, her eyes closing momentarily at the thought. Tears pooled around the edges of her eyes as she answered, “We haven’t touched anything in her room, if you can, try not to move anything around too much. Please.”

“I will be as careful as I can,” Y/N promised as Roman reached out and gently caressed her hand in comforting resolve.

“It’s the last room on the right,” Mrs. Torrez said quietly, sobbing lightly.

Y/N nodded, gently, she set her coffee on the table as she maneuvered her way towards the back of the house. The hallway was narrow, the sound of music blared from the first room to her left while the TV played loudly in the last room on the same side. She heard vague chuckles as the sounds of people speaking in spanish filled the room.

_People dealt with grief differently,_ she told herself, thinking that the person in that room was Mr. Torrez.

Carefully, her hand reached for the door handle, slowly pushing it open to reveal a fairly clean room. Clothes was strewn over the bed, along with a variety of shoes tossed around the floor, as if she was contemplating what to wear. It was all too familiar to that of Emily Hamill’s studio apartment.

She reached into her coat pocket, pulling out a pair of rubber gloves that she nicked from the lab earlier that day, after her visit to Henry’s.

Immediately, she shook the thoughts of Henry Bowers from her head. Now wasn’t the time for him. Now was the time to focus on Jenica, and what she could gather from her bedroom.

Her eyes scanned the rest of the room. It was fairly normal for a girl in her late teens. There were some posters on the wall of obscure bands, magazines were tossed onto a plush chair that was nestled in the corner of the room while her bed sat in the center of the room. Opposite of the bed was a small, wooden chiffon dresser. The mirror was clean, but the chiffon itself was messy as an array of makeup items were scattered along the surface.

_Girls this age always keep secrets_ , she thought, _where would Jenica keep her secrets?_

Carefully, she began her search in the drawers; the only things she found of interest were packs of condoms, some drug paraphernalia (a weed pipe), a grinder, and piles of band t-shirts and shorts.

She rummaged through her closet, feeling somewhat excited when she found a few shoe boxes that were filled with nothing but odd nick nacks, old jewelry and photos of two girls playing on the floor of an apartment. She glanced at it awhile longer, noting that it was a young Jenica with her little sister, both of the young girls smiling happily.

“What are you looking for?” a voice called from the doorway.

Y/N quickly peeked out of the closet, meeting Jovanna’s intrigued and exhausted stare. She held the photo in her hands as she placed everything back the way it was, “Anything, really.”

“If you’re looking for a diary, I would check underneath the mattress,” she pointed, “That’s where I keep mine.”

Y/N furrowed her brows, but she followed the girls tip, making her way to the mattress and lifting it to find a simply black sketchbook. She slowly pulled it out, turning it over in her hands as she opened it. She skimmed through it, realizing it was more of a poetry book with crude drawings than an actual journal. Her eyes peeked up from the book, taking note of Jovanna still standing in the doorway, glancing around the bedroom, “Did you ever go through your sister’s things?”

She shook her head as she fiddled with her fingers, “No. Jenica always said that if I wanted privacy, I had to respect hers.”

“Were you two close?”

“Yes,” she answered quietly, “She gave my parents a hard time, but she was never mean to me. Everyone thought she should just be sent to live with my _abuelos_ in California, to straighten her out.”

“Straighten her out?”

She sighed heavily, peeking out of the doorway and down the hall as she entered the room, “My parents didn’t think I knew about her, but Jenica never hid anything from me. I knew about the drugs, and the fights. I knew about the things she did for drugs.”

Y/N knitted her brows, she was aware of Jenica’s case file; she had been arrested a handful of times for fighting, even doing a few overnighters in jail. She cleared her throat as she asked, “How did you know?”

“She told me,” Jovanna answered, “She didn’t think it was right that my parents lied to me about the things she did, Jeni always said that the truth was better than lies. Even if it hurt.”

This girl knows a lot more than the parents do, she thought.

“What else can you tell me about Jenica?”

Jovanna pursed her lips as she contemplated her next words. Y/N placed a gentle hand on the girl’s shoulder, squeezing it gently to reassure her that she could be trusted, “Any little thing you know can help me find out who did this to her, Jovanna.”

“My parents—”

“I’ll keep the information source private. I promise.”

Jovanna’s chocolate brown eyes gazed into Y/N’s, until she finally nodded, “She was a good girl, until we moved here. Jenica hated it here. She wanted to go back to California. That’s when she started fighting, drinking, doing drugs. But, she said that someone hurt her. She couldn’t tell me who, she said she didn’t remember.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, she went to a party with some people she met. And the next thing she knew, she woke up in the middle of a field. She was sore, and she was bleeding from— _down there_. She had bruises and cuts. I knew she had sex before, but this was different. She couldn’t move, she was in pain. She had to pretend that she was sick so she could get out of going to school,” Jovanna confessed in a rush. The look on her face could be described as pure horror as she recalled the things that her sister confided in her.

“She told you this?”

Jovanna nodded, tears pooling in the corners of her eyes as she started, “I told her to call the cops or to tell _mama_ or _papa_ , but she said that no one would believe her because of the things she did.”

Y/N rubbed Jovanna’s shoulders gently, as a gesture of trust, “Jovanna, what else did she tell you?”

She scoffed as she rubbed her eyes, “I don’t know— I— she said she met someone.”

_Bingo._

“Who? Who did she meet? What was his name?”

“I don’t know— she told me that she promised him she wouldn’t tell anyone about him. All she would say was that he was the nicest guy she’d ever met and that he promised they were going to runaway together— I— please, I don’t want to talk about her anymore,” she cried, throwing herself into Y/N.

Baffled, Y/N hugged the girl back, squeezing her gently as Jovanna sobbed into her coat, “It’s not the same without her. I’m so alone, I miss her so much.”

Y/N stroked the young girl’s hair, just as her grandmother used to do to her to comfort her, “She’ll always be with you, Jovanna. Remember her as the sister that loved you, and will always love you.”

Jovanna looked up at her as Y/N handed her the photo she found earlier. She looked down at it in awe, smiling softly the longer she glanced at the picture, “I didn’t know she had this.”

“Jovanna! _Mija_!”

Jovanna quickly wiped the tears from her eyes as he held the photo to her chest, a sigh of relief escaping her lips, “Thank you.”

She turned, quietly exiting the room, but before she left, she paused. She turned, her brows knitted in concentration, “I think his name was Robert. You might find out about him in that book, but that’s all I know.”

Y/N watched as Jovanna briskly left the room. The voices in the living room echoed down the hall, and all Y/N could think about was that she finally had a name.

We’re close, she thought, glancing at the book in her hands, Jenica left them their biggest clue yet. All that was left, was to find out who this Robert guy was.

It was painfully obvious, however, that they had finally gotten a glimpse into who their killer was.

* * *

**Leah Sharp**

The night was quiet as Leah dragged her feet from the restaurant to the parking lot on the side of the building towards her car. As of late, she had promised her girlfriend that she would do her damnest to get her shit together, even if it meant working at a job that she hated.

But, fuck if it wasn’t hard.

The meetings at A.A. were there to give her some support, but she didn’t feel safe. Or supported. Still, if she wanted to keep her relationship with Tali, she had to at least try.

And she did, for the most part. But if Tali ever glanced inside Leah’s vehicle, she would see old water bottles littered all over the back seat and the floor and assume nothing of it.

However, vodka was easily passed off as water, and she couldn’t wait to get into her car to down a whole bottle and feel at ease. The day was long, and frustrating. All she wanted was that familiar sensation to flow down her throat to bring her a sense of comfort.

She sighed as she neared her car and pulled the keys out of her pocket. Lazily, she unlocked the door and immediately pushed the key into the ignition. She reached for a bottle, opening it briskly and chugging the harsh contents down, sighing in relief at the familiar feeling beginning to set in.

Leah’s hand turned the key in the ignition, but there was nothing. She furrowed her brows, turning the key again and only hearing a clicking sound.

“What the shit?”

Groaning in irritation, she popped the hood of her car and exited the vehicle. She stumbled slightly as she lifted the hood to glance inside the vehicle.

“Need some help?” a voice said from behind her.

She turned to glance at the man that leaned against the front of a van, his arms crossed over his chest. Her vision was blurring now with the alcohol setting in. Only, everything was spinning a lot harder than normal and she felt a sudden wave of nausea hitting her, “Uh— n— no. I—”

“Are you alright? You look a little sick there…” he said in a silky voice as he approached her, the sound of his shoes hitting the hard gravel and nearing her alerted her.

His hands slithered up behind her as he held her up, “It’s alright, hun. I’ll take care of you.”

Leah tried to scream. She tried to fight back. She had taken classes on self defense, she knew the techniques.

But all of that was useless now that her body felt stiff, as if she was paralyzed, “N— nnnnnnn—”

“Don’t worry, it’ll be over soon,” the voice said. She was slowly losing herself, she felt the tendrils of sleep begin to beckon to her. The last thing she remembered seeing was a vague figure in black tossing her into the back of a van, and a glistening spark of silver until the door slid shut and she was plunged into the cradle of darkness.


	8. My Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Angst. Tiny fluff. There is also a very graphic scene towards the end, I recommend if you feel uncomfortable with sexual assault, do not continue. I am not fucking around.
> 
> A/N: Fuck yes. We are almost at the halfway mark to this fic, and trust me, it’s only gonna get uglier from here. This chapter contains a lot of dialogue, so I recommend you pay close attention here, also, I hope you all enjoy the POV chapter. :3 as always, the song I recommend you listen to in the end is My Girl by The Temptations. Do it.

Sasha Wilson’s mother was a shell of the woman she was before, based on the photo’s Y/N glanced at when she entered the beautiful two-story home. The sun was shining in through the sun room in a glimmering golden light as the sun set in sky and showered the remainder of the home in the same glow; still, even though the home itself was beautiful, Y/N sensed the emptiness and dark feeling of melancholy envelop her the moment she stepped into the house.

Her eyes gathered the appearance of the home, with its lovely tan walls and tasteful decorations; it would have been homey on a day when Sasha Wilson was alive. The sun room itself was warmer compared to the living room.

Gabrielle Wilson and Terrence Wilson, Sasha’s parents, sat on two separate armchairs nestled in front of a lovely bay window. A small table with a photo of Sasha sat between them, in the window beyond, Y/N glanced at the falling autumn leaves blowing in the breeze.

Sasha took more after her father than she did her mother, they both had the same deep set, pensive, hazel eyes. Their skin was the color of creamy mocha, and Y/N had to admit, she was semi envious of their beautiful almond shaped eyes and high cheekbones.

Her eyes fell on the photo of Sasha as Gabrielle and Terrence spoke about having to send their other daughter, Monica out of state for fear of what might happen to her.

Sasha had lovely, full, curly hair and her smile was wide as dimples indented her cheeks. From what Y/N gathered, Sasha was nothing like Jenica, Emily or Mary Ann. She was a good girl, the valedictorian of her class, a Christian girl who put her faith first. From what she gathered, Sasha was… pure. The way she died was as horrifying as the way the other women died.

“We pray for her every day; we know our baby is with God now, that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt any less,” Terrence started.

“I understand,” Roman sympathized, “Which is why coming back to bother you was the last thing we wanted to do.”

“It’s fine, honey,” Gabrielle answered, her brows pulling together as she inhaled deeply, “What can we do to help?”

Roman sighed heavily as he leaned forward, “For starters, we know Sasha was heavily involved in her school work and church life, but we’re wondering if maybe you knew about—if she mentioned any boys?”

Terrence shrugged as he rubbed the back of his neck, “Sasha never dated. She wanted to focus on school first.”

“Are you sure? She never mentioned anyone that she might be interested in?” Y/N asked, finally breaking her silence. Gabrielle and Terrence both shook their heads. 

If this killer got to Sasha, it was from watching her. She didn’t buy that he didn’t make any kind of contact with her… it wasn’t his style.

Y/N pursed her lips, thinking hard when she finally asked, “Has she mentioned anyone following her?”

Gabrielle’s eyes widened momentarily as a thought came to mind, “Sasha did mention one time— Remember, Terrence? That night when she left bible study? She said she a car was following her?”

Terrence pursed his lips, “Yeah, she got home pretty shaken. Said the car was speeding up behind her, it damn near ran her off the road.”

“Did she get a look at the kind of car it was?” Y/N asked, intrigued and grasping at a possible clue.

“Not really,” Terrence answered, “But she said it did look like a van.”

“Let’s go back to the night she was taken,” Roman started as he continued to write down what the Wilson’s said, “When we last spoke, you mentioned that she called you when she was leaving bible study, right?”

“Yes, that’s right,” Gabrielle replied, “Terrence was working late that night, the office had him going over some case files. She was on the phone with her brother Elijah, she was supposed to pick him up from work— Elijah said she saw someone on the side of the road needing help and—”

“Wait,” Roman interrupted, his brows furrowed in confusion, “She pulled over to help somebody? Where does Elijah work?”

“He works at the local music shop,” Gabrielle answered. She inhaled deeply as her eyes widened, suddenly aware of the fact, “But— her car was found on the other side of town.”

Y/N tried her best not to stare Roman down. But the temptation was still there, and she found herself giving him a nasty side glare for not catching on earlier. This one detail could have helped bring them closer to the killer, but alas, it was too late, and all they could do was retrace their steps. She cleared her throat to direct the attention to herself, “Mrs. Wilson, is it alright if I search Sasha’s bedroom?”

Terrence furrowed his brows in misunderstanding, “What for?”

“Just to see if there was something we missed the first time around,” Y/N assured.

“I’ll show you where it is,” Gabrielle offered, giving her husband a warning glance. Her heels clacked against the hardwood floor as she motioned for Y/N to follow her. She smoothly ascended the steps, leading Y/N towards a bedroom in the corner.

Gabrielle gently pushed the door open, the hinges squealing slightly at the motion. Y/N was semi taken aback that the room was… neat. Too neat.

The white sheets were completely clean, not a spot of dirt on them. The shaggy rug beside the bed that was nestled in the corner underneath the windows was neatly placed beside a simple white nightstand; on top of the nightstand was a lonely bible and a picture of Sasha along with her family. Above the bed, a thin white canopy hung over the headboard and draping the sides in a curtain of shimmering white.

To the right of the door, nestled in the far end of the bedroom sat a desk neatly organized with assignments along with a calendar pinned on a corkboard along with sticky notes reminding Sasha of deadlines and due dates. Photos of her prayer group, her friends and her family were also pinned on the corkboard.

The dresser, which was closest to the door, was a simple white with gold trimming. The mirror was squeaky clean with only vague scratches covering the surface, “I’ll try not to move anything around too much.”

Gabrielle nodded as she watched Y/N pull out another pair of gloves and start with the dresser, then moved her way across the bedroom towards Sasha’s desk, beneath the mattress, under the bed, through her closet. She searched every nook and cranny, up and down, even searching between the bible for anything suspicious.

Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing like Jenica’s drawers. No drug paraphernalia. No sexy underwear. No provocative clothing of any kind. No edgy band posters or angsty poetry. No drug usage or alcoholism. No hidden secrets.

_Nothing out of the ordinary_ , she repeated to herself, the pieces of the puzzle suddenly clicking in place.

_Fuck_ , she thought, _fuck_.

As it happened, she was right. Their killer did have a type. And as beautiful and pure as Sasha was, she wasn’t his type, which made her murder strange.

Why _did he go after her?_

She felt the realization hit her like a ton of bricks, her wide eyes glanced up towards Gabrielle, who was watching Y/N with confused eyes, “Sasha was as good as they come, if I may ask, Mrs. Wilson… you’re absolutely sure she had no secrets from you?”

“Positive,” Gabrielle answered with utmost confidence, “I know how teens can be, but Sasha was different. She had a good head on her shoulders. She wanted to be a pediatrician… she wanted to move to a third world country to help the less fortunate. Her passion wasn’t boys, or prom, it was god. She was devout in her faith… she believed.”

A sad smile crossed her face as she observed the photo on Sasha’s nightstand, “I pray to god every night that the man who killed my baby will be brought to justice. And I pray to god that he saves his soul.”

Now, Y/N was the one that was puzzled by Mrs. Wilson’s words, “Why?”

Gabrielle smiled gently at Y/N, her eyes watered as she answered, “Because we are all god’s children, and whomever hurt my baby… he’s angry. I pray that he finds the love he needs so his soul can be at peace, and he can be saved.”

“Aren’t you angry with him? Don’t you want him to rot in hell?”

“I could never wish that on anyone, baby. It’s not my place. I leave the judgement towards god,” she answered, so sure and honest with her words. Y/N was almost envious of her certainty and her kind spirit.

Clearing her throat, and still taken aback by Gabrielle’s answer, Y/N asked, “Would it be possible to speak to Elijah?”

“He’s down at the music store; the owner told him he could take as much time as he needed, and he’d still pay him a full-time paycheck, but Elijah wasn’t hearing it,” Gabrielle said in a tone that made her wary of her son’s decision.

“Would it be fine if I went and asked him a couple of questions?”

“I’ll let him know you’re heading there,” Gabrielle said, a tiny smile crossing her lips.

Y/N nodded in gratitude as she headed towards the doorway. Gabrielle moved aside to let her pass, “I’ll let myself out. Thank you for your help, Mrs. Wilson. If there’s anything else you might recall, any detail, feel free to call me.”

Mrs. Wilson nodded, but her eyes weren’t on Y/N. They lingered on the emptiness that was Sasha’s room. They all shared that, the families of the lost women, a void that could never be filled. A hole that would forever be empty.

She called to Roman, who was still in a conversation with Mr. Wilson, “Time to go, thank you so much for your cooperation Mr. Wilson.”

Terrence simply nodded in response, but just like Gabrielle, his eyes weren’t on the pair of them, they were on a photo of Sasha, “Thank you for coming by.”

Y/N motioned for Roman to follow her out. They remained silent until they reached Y/N’s Charger and Roman leaned against the hood of the car, his hands leaving imprints on Y/N’s smooth exterior, the action made her grind her teeth, but she ignored it as he asked, “Did you find anything?”

“Nothing,” she answered as she pushed her key into the lock of the car.

Roman’s brows knitted in puzzlement, “That’s odd.”

“Not really,” she answered.

“How do you figure?” Roman asked as he pulled open the passenger door while Y/N opened the driver’s side and they both entered the car simultaneously. Roman lit a cigarette as he patiently waited for her to answer his question.

“Because she’s not his type,” Y/N answered, snatching the cigarette from Roman’s fingers as his jaw dropped in surprise.

* * *

“What are we doing here?” Roman asked as he eyed the music shop, tossing the butt of his cigarette on the sidewalk.

“Investigating,” Y/N answered, shutting the door behind her as he carefully maneuvered her way around a small group of teen girls giggling as they left the shop. One of them, a short girl with long black hair bumped in to Y/N as she continued to stare over her shoulder at the blonde-haired angelic man behind the cash register. She mumbled a quick apology as she hurried to catch up to her friends, taking a quick glance over her shoulder once more before rounding the corner with the group of young girls.

“Isn’t that Bowers’ buddy?” Roman asked, pointing to the man behind the register.

Y/N glanced at Victor Criss, who was chuckling to himself as he counted the cash in his hands, “Yeah; do you think you can behave?”

“I’ll shop around.”

“Good,” Y/N said, slowly making her way into the building. The jingling of the door brought Victor’s attention from counting cash to the two detectives entering his establishment. His eyes glanced up at her in confusion, but he quickly shot a glare in Roman’s direction, who waltzed over to the indie music section.

Henry probably told him about the fight with Roman. But if there was anything that the blonde wanted to say, he didn’t. Instead turning his attention towards Y/N as she walked towards the register. He smiled slightly as he said in a teasing tone, “I was wondering when I’d see you again. You left so suddenly last time I saw you.”

Y/N’s eyes widened. She glanced over her shoulder, afraid that Roman heard what he said. Luckily for her, Roman had put on a set of headphones as he began to listen to god knows what.

“I got busy.”

“Too busy to hang out with old friends, huh? Maybe not so busy to fraternize with former lovers?” he asked, a knowing smile crossing his lips.

“Cut the crap, Criss,” Y/N snapped, annoyed that of course Victor knew about her tumble with Henry.

_I swear these boys are worse gossip queens than a gang of teenage girls_ , she thought.

“The crap has already been cut, honey,” he said, his smile thinning. He glanced in Roman’s direction as his voice lowered, “Really though. Shit’s only going to get worse the longer you string him along, Y/N. If you have no interest in being with him, it’s best to cut it off while you still can… otherwise—” he paused, trying to choose his words carefully, “Let’s just say that the last time you broke his heart, he became the worst version of himself.”

“I appreciate the lecture, Criss, but I’m not here for Henry.”

“Then what are you here for? Obviously not to see little old me… I’m not important enough for you,” he teased as he closed the register and gathered the records on top of the counter. He motioned for Y/N to follow him as he began to put the records in their proper places.

“I’m actually here to see Elijah Wilson,” Y/N said, ignoring his snide remarks.

Victor nodded solemnly, “You want to talk to him about Sasha, huh?”

“You knew her?”

“Of course, I did,” Victor answered as he carefully placed a Smashing Pumpkins vinyl in its spot, “Good kid, always picked up Elijah on time. She liked to help sort records on her spare time.”

“Heard you offered Elijah some time off with pay,” Y/N noted, finding the gesture odd since Victor Criss was never generous… at least not when she knew him.

“It was a tough time for the kid,” Victor scoffed, “Still is. Good girl like her… she didn’t deserve what happened to her.”

Y/N’s voice lowered as she followed him towards the classic rock section, “None of the girls deserved what happened to them.”

“Maybe not, doesn’t change the fact though.”

“You seem pretty indifferent about it.”

Victor sighed heavily as he shoved an Iron Maiden vinyl with its counterparts, “It already happened. What the fuck can we do?”

“You can try to act like you care.”

“Typical Y/N,” he chuckled, “You’re one to talk. If I’ve heard correctly you haven’t really been acting like you care with how reckless you’ve been behaving.”

Y/N’s eyes widened at his comment. It was expected of Victor though, still, it was uncalled for. Victor smirked at the obvious effect his words had on her. He set the records aside as he continued, “But, you’re not here to talk about your sexcapades. So, I’ll go ahead and get Elijah for you.”

In an instant, Victor waltzed away with the arrogance she recognized as he pushed his silvery blonde hair back, the keys of his car jingling in the pockets of his camo pants.

Y/N rolled her eyes, turning her head towards the vinyl’s that Victor carelessly left behind on top of the other organized stacks. Her brows furrowed as she glanced at a familiar record, the artwork in the front catching her attention and the onslaught of nostalgia filling her as she lifted the record in her hands.

She carefully traced the artwork on the cover, her fingers tracing the letters as she recalled the same record she had in her younger days. She turned the record casing over and glanced at the list of songs, rolling her eyes when she saw the song that playing that one cool night, “My sister liked them.”

Y/N glanced up, her eyes locked onto deep coal colored eyes; they were deep and pensive, just like his sisters. His hands were in the pockets of his baggy blue jeans, he wore a simple white t-shirt underneath a grey windbreaker, “Did she?”

“They were her guilty pleasure,” Elijah smiled fondly as he glanced at the Def Leppard record, “Of course, mom would’ve lost her shit if she found out Sasha liked them. They’re not bad, but, mom said their music was provocative.”

“If that’s the case, I’m surprised you were allowed to work here,” Y/N pointed.

Elijah shrugged, “I want to produce music, and Criss allows me to study his library of vinyl’s.”

“That’s awfully nice of him,” Y/N said, gently placing the vinyl back with the others.

“Yeah, he’s a good guy; too bad he’s seen as a dick because of that Bowers asshole he hangs with. Criss is nothing like that fucker,” Elijah spat.

“You don’t get on well with him?”

Elijah scoffed, rolling his eyes as he answered, “Everyone in town knows he did it. Who else could’ve done it?”

“There are other suspects.”

“Oh yeah? Like who?”

“I can’t discuss that.”

He skeptically chuckled, licking his lips as he did so, “My mom told me about you. I thought you would have more sense than the other fucking idiots investigating my sister’s case… but from the looks of it, you’re running around like a chicken with its head cut off.”

“It’s not that simple, Elijah—”

“It is, all you have to do is arrest him.”

Y/N sighed heavily as she tried to retain her composure, “Elijah, I will find whoever did this. I promise you that, but to do that I’m going to need your help.”

Elijah shut his eyes tightly as he inhaled deeply. After a few moments, his eyes finally opened as he nodded, “Yeah… mom said to watch my temper. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Y/N said as she observed the boy in front of her. He couldn’t have been more than 16 years old, but his eyes were those of a 40-year-old, tired and worn out, “Your mother told me Sasha was on her way to pick you up. And Victor said she was the one that always came for you?”

“That’s right,” Elijah answered as he leaned against the counter, “She liked to chill in here, and she liked that Vic often gave her free vinyls.”

Y/N nodded, “Why?”

“Because she helped around here when we were short staffed, said she refused to get paid. All she wanted was for Criss to write her a good recommendation letter to the university since he graduated at the top of his class and the dude’s got some pull there,” he answered, “The free vinyls were Criss’ way of paying her.”

“I didn’t find any vinyl’s in her bedroom,” Y/N pointed.

“No, she had me hold on to them. I was less likely to get in trouble than she was. My parents were always more protective of the girls than the boys.”

She nodded, “Elijah, during the times she came to pick you up or the times she drove you home, did you ever notice anyone following her?”

“No,” he answered, “The times she was alone though— like the times she didn’t have to pick me up and when she drove alone were the times when she said she felt someone was following her. Like that one time some fucker tried to run her off the road.”

“What about here in the record store? Did you ever notice anyone here that normally didn’t come in? Anyone getting too friendly with Sasha when she was working?”

Elijah thought about it for a moment until he finally answered, “No. We get all kinds of people, but no one that seemed… off.”

_Fuck_ , she thought.

“Ok, can you tell me about the night she was supposed to pick you up?”

He pursed his lips and his hands rubbed his face as he started, “She was on the phone with me. Ever since that night with the car, she tried to be on the phone with me in case something happened. Last thing she said was that there was a car on the side of the road, looked like it was an accident.”

“Did she mention anything else?”

Elijah closed his eyes in concentration momentarily as he tried to rack his memory, “No. Just that the emergency lights were on, and it looked like the car had swerved.”

“And that was the last you heard from her?”

“Yeah,” he answered, “I didn’t hear a word from her. I called my mom. Let her know that Sasha never showed up… Criss had to take me home.”

Y/N nodded, “Is there anything else you can tell me? Was she becoming distant? Was she spending her time with someone you didn’t know about?”

Elijah chuckled, “You must think that every teen girl has something to hide huh? Not Sasha, she wasn’t like the other girls you find around here… she didn’t sneak around with anyone or have a hidden drug problem. Not like that Jenica girl.”

“You knew Jenica?”

Elijah nodded, “Seen her at a few parties. Girl was always fucked up. Sasha wanted to help her… it was too bad. She was a nice girl before she started getting into drugs.”

“Did you happen to see her with anyone unusual?”

His brows lifted as he scoffed sarcastically, “The girl traded sex for drugs. Unusual was a common thing around her.”

And there it was. She had a first name for their killer. She had the patterns. But no one _saw_ him. The man she was looking for. It was like he was a phantom. 

Defeated, she glanced up at Elijah as she pushed her hands in the pockets of her black trench coat, “Thank you for your help, Elijah. If there’s anything else you can think of, call me.”

She handed him a card with her personal number on it, “I’ll do that. Thanks, and again, sorry for being an asshole… I just— I miss her.”

“I understand,” Y/N sympathized, thinking of how much she missed a shaggy haired maniac. Though in all reality… she knew she shouldn’t be missing him.

She turned to leave, motioning towards Roman who was engrossed in a Depeche Mode vinyl.

She looked over her shoulder as she watched Victor come up behind Elijah, whispering words of encouragement in his ear and giving his shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

Elijah tossed the card on top of the record vinyl’s as he made his way back to the stockroom while Vic continued to rearrange the stack.

“Anything useful?” Roman asked as they left the store and waltzed onto the sidewalk.

“Just a couple of things,” she answered, lowering her voice as passerby’s craned their necks to hear what they were saying, trying to get the latest news on the investigation.

Y/N quickly opened the door to her car and slammed the door shut behind her as Roman followed suit. Once they were in the safety of her car, she started as she lit a cigarette, smoothly speaking as tendrils of smoke escaped her nostrils and lips, “One: He has a pattern. Two: Sasha Wilson doesn’t fit the pattern. Three: We’re dealing with someone beyond psychotic.”

Roman leaned forward, his jaw dropping slightly as he took in what she just said. He cleared his throat as he asked, “So, what’s his pattern?”

“Well,” she started as she stared at the various people passing by on the sidewalk, “Normally, killers fixate on a certain type of person, the ones that don’t are the ones that are beyond unpredictable.”

“But, our victims don’t have anything in common—”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” she interrupted. Roman’s brows furrowed as he allowed her to continue, “Look, they don’t all have blonde hair, they’re not alike in any way except for the fact that these women he targets were all damaged. They all had issues with their families. They all have substance abuse problem.”

“But that doesn’t explain Sasha Wilson,” Roman pointed.

“Which is why I said she doesn’t fit the pattern,” Y/N said thoughtfully, “Her only guilty pleasure was listening to Def Leppard for fucks sake, she wasn’t like the others. Which makes this a little more complicated…”

“From what I’ve known about serial killers, is when there’s a pattern, there’s someone they’re killing over and over. I wonder who he’s killing,” Roman whispered, his eyes gazing out of the window in deep thought.

“We won’t know until we find out the identity of the killer,” Y/N sighed heavily, defeated.

“We have a name.”

“Yes, we do,” Y/N agreed, but she had a feeling that this was just another dead end. She only caught two slip ups. But that was luck. To expect another would be hoping for too much, especially considering how Sasha’s murder went from following his pattern to doing a complete 180. She liked to think that this man wasn’t as clever as he thought he was… but maybe, she wasn’t as smart as she thought.

_If you were as smart as you think you are you would open your eyes and see the fucking truth._

Henry’s words rang in her ears like an echo, over and over as she tried to put the pieces of the puzzle together.

_What truth?_

_Was Henry really the one responsible, in some way, for the murders?_

“Are you alright?” Roman asked, bringing Y/N out of her train of thought. Her eyes met his worried stare, and she nodded in response, recalling what she had to do about Henry.

“Yeah, look, I need to get some time alone to think about this. I’m going to head up to my hotel and see what I can come up with.”

Roman’s brows furrowed, his concern so clear in his gaze, like he wasn’t even trying to hide it. Instead of pushing it, however, he simply nodded as he pulled the door to the car open, “Alright, I’m going to head on back to the station. I’ll see you later?”

“Sure,” Y/N answered, her gaze falling back on the building. She waited until Roman crossed the street to turn on her car. She carefully backed out of her parking spot and drove the few blocks towards the local bar.

Quickly, she turned off the ignition, pushing her keys into her pockets as she exited the car and stalked into the bar, tossing the filter of her cigarette onto the ground. The stench of liquor, bleach and cigarettes hit her nose the moment she entered the dank place. Her eyes scanned the large open area; the normal, usual patrons were there, but there was no sign of Henry, luckily.

“Hey there, what can I get for you?” the tall, husky bartender asked, taking in her appearance and trying to be as friendly as possible once he realized who she was, his eyes locked on her visible badge clipped on her belt.

“Is your manager in today?”

“Yeah, I’ll go get him,” he said, briskly walking toward the back of the bar. Y/N instinctively lit another cigarette as she waited, taking a seat on the stool, watching the other patrons whisper softly to each other through her peripherals.

Her eyes fell on a dark corner of the bar. Shivers went up her spine, almost as if someone was watching her. She turned, eyeing the corner of the bar, squinting her eyes to get a better glance at who was there. She was sure there was no one there… still, her instincts told her otherwise.

“Good afternoon,” a deep voice said from behind the bar, causing her to tear her glare away from the dark phantom in the bar, “Opie says you’re looking for me.”

“Yeah,” Y/N started, turning to find the corner empty and the door to the bar swinging closed. She furrowed her brows at the sight. Something inside of her was willing her to follow whomever left… but the questioning glare of the manager caught her attention and she quickly regained her composure and pulled out her badge, allowing the manager to carefully look at it before being satisfied that it was real, “I’m Special Agent Y/L/N.”

“Good you to meet you, I’m Rusty, what can I do for you?”

“I was wondering if I could get a look at your cam footage,” Y/N started.

His furry white brows crinkled at her request, as if he wasn’t sure if he should do it, “You think that killer came in here?”

“Maybe,” Y/N said, firmly making it clear with her tone of voice that she wasn’t going to disclose anything further, “Can you do that, or do I need to get a warrant?”

“There’s no need for that,” Rusty said, “C’mon.”

Y/N followed Rusty behind the bar, ignoring the stares of the cooks and one waitress that was flirting with the dishwasher. The husky man led her into a small office, taking a seat at the desk as he accessed the computer in front of him while Y/N leaned against the doorway, observing the workers, “Are you here often, Rusty?”

The older man looked up at her, his deep denim colored eyes locking on her as he answered, “As often as I can, I’m the owner as well. Don’t trust hiring managers.”

“Do you bartend as well?”

“On busy nights when Opie needs a hand,” he answered.

“Have you seen anything out of the ordinary during the times you’ve bartended? Or your bartender?”

“We get all kinds of people in here, all of them drunks. If you’re asking if we’ve seen a serial killer, we don’t know what they look like,” he said, earning him a glare from Y/N.

“How often does Henry Bowers come in here?”

Rusty stared at her with a puzzled look as he stated, “You think he’s the one that did it.”

She didn’t answer him, instead giving him a look that said to answer her question. He sighed heavily as he clicked on the mouse and his eyes went back to the computer screen, “He’s here almost every day.”

“Has he given you a hard time?”

“Other than that time he got into a fight with your partner, no. He usually keeps to himself, speaks to a couple people here and there when he’s drunk,” he answered, his eyes falling on her as he added, “I know what the people in this town think about him, but he’s not who you’re looking for. The kid’s got issues. But he ain’t no killer.”

Y/N pushed herself off the doorframe as she smirked at his words while she slowly walked over to the chairs in front of his desk, taking a seat in one of them as she asked, “You sure about that?”

Rusty furrowed his brows, his large cheeks reddening at her implication of Henry. He inhaled slowly as he leaned forward, “You know, I remember you. You were that little girl always running around with Henry and that Hockstetter kid.”

“So, then you know he was a little shit?”

“No different from you, if I recall,” Y/N kept silent, glaring at the older man as he continued, “You were no better than he was. Whatever he did when he was young, that ain’t him no more. The kid lost two friends, he had to watch his own father die in front of his eyes, slowly. He hasn’t had the best life ever, but just like you, he’s working to turn his life around. I got nothing but respect for that kid, regardless of what the other townsfolk think.”

Y/N kept her facial expression as still as she possibly could, though his words seemed to have a sharp effect on her. It was like he was accusing her of putting herself on a pedestal and looking down on Henry for even daring to accuse him. She cleared her throat, doing her best to ignore his words as she spoke, “Did you get that footage?”

He huffed as he looked at his screen, “I pulled up all the way back to April, knock yourself out.”

Rusty pushed himself off the chair as he made his way around the desk and out of the office, “And for the record, when the kid got drunk, there was only one person he talked about… and that was you.”

_For fucks sake_ , Y/N thought, as if she couldn’t feel anymore terrible than she already did.

She had to reassure herself though, that she was doing this to make sure Henry wasn’t involved in any way. She was doing this to clear his name. But she knew that was bullshit.

Either way, she resolved on sitting through and making sure that she thoroughly observed the footage before jumping to conclusions.

And thus, began the hours of staring at the grainy video, making out faces and observing the comings and goings of the bar. It was just as Rusty had said, Henry was there every day. At the same stool. At the same time.

Sometimes he was surrounded by people he didn’t know. Other times he was alone. Sometimes he was with Vic and Belch, other times with just one. Sometimes they were rowdy and laughing, other times Henry was sullen as Vic or Belch, sometimes both, sat beside him, a supporting hand on his back as he cradled his head in his hands.

The sight made her sad.

_There was only one person he talked about … and that was you._

Did she really cause him that much agony? Over her leaving? Of course, she did, she knew it would hurt him when she left. After everything they shared together… the things they did. The things he did for her.

She shook her head, the fear inside crawling out as repressed memories threatened to break through. Her eyes focused on the screen in front of her, taking note of the time stamp on the corner of the screen: _September 19._

A few weeks before Emily went missing.

She watched as Henry made his way to his usual stool, ordering his usual drink. The time passed by as he continued to drink alone, ignoring the presence of everyone else around him; the drinks kept coming and coming, and soon enough, he was cradling his head in his hands again as he talked to Rusty.

In the other end of the bar, a fight was starting to take place, gaining Rusty’s full attention and leaving Henry to stew in his own misery, alone.

She furrowed her brows as a group of young girls entered the bar, and a familiar blonde woman pointed in Henry’s direction. She watched as a tipsy Emily Hamill maneuvered her way through the crowded bar towards Henry.

She leaned forward, watching as Henry and Emily began to talk quietly amongst themselves, then as Emily slowly began to scoot closer to Henry.

As the night continued to progress, Emily continued to seductively touch Henry, who played along with it. All the while, consistently sending messages on his phone until eventually, Belch showed up and began to haul Henry away, leaving Emily alone to stew in frustration.

Y/N fast forwarded to the night she disappeared, the night that Emily, Henry, Y/N and Roman were all, miraculously, in the same bar. She watched as she saw herself enter the bar and order a drink, her files in front of her as she sat alone in a corner booth.

She kept her eyes carefully glued to the screen as she watched Henry enter the bar; he noticed her, but she was too engrossed in her files that she didn’t notice him walk in and take a seat in his usual spot. A while later, the band of men that she saw him with that first night began to crowd around him.

Roman joined her awhile later, and she felt a sudden lurch in her heart at his vague smile on the screen. She watched as she made eye contact with Henry, and he turned, frustrated. Instead turning his attention to his phone.

And in the corner of the screen, she watched as Emily Hamill began to pound down drink after drink, her friends trying to get her to take it easy and failing miserably. Until finally, she was convinced to leave.

After that, nothing out of the ordinary. Henry never followed her. If anything, he was ushered out of the bar by Belch the first time he and Emily interacted. Any other time they were in the same room together, Henry ignored her, opting to sulk alone on his phone or speak to Rusty, or Vic and Belch.

She let out a sigh of relief, or was it defeat?

Henry was innocent. She should have been disappointed, especially considering her status on his innocence, but, she was relieved.

However, now that Henry was crossed off the list… it meant that their killer was still out there. And with their prime suspect being ruled out, the chances of finding whomever was responsible was looking bleak.

* * *

**Henry Bowers**

Henry watched as the smoke from his cigarette curled in loops over him. He laid on the hood of a car he was working on, watching the orange and pink of the sun begin to give way to the blue darkness of the night, bringing the sparkling stars with it.

So, it wasn’t necessarily dark.

His mind wandered hopelessly the more he thought about the interaction he had with Y/N earlier that day, and he felt awful at the things he said to her.

It was her right to suspect him.

She was there to find the fucker responsible. Not to feed to his ego and try to make amends over what she had done years ago.

“Yeah right,” he thought, ignoring the bright headlights that illuminated his front lawn in a bright white glow.

He listened intently as the soft purring of the engine died down and a car door smoothly shut closed. The sound of grass rustling in the silvery darkness gave way to the person that made his way towards him, “I’m surprised you’re not out drinking tonight.”

“Not in the mood,” he simply said, taking a long drag from his cigarette.

“Got those vinyl’s and tapes you wanted,” Victor said, handing him a bag with records inside, and instead laying them on the hood of the car beside him when Henry didn’t reach out to grab them, “I saw her today.”

Henry didn’t say anything. His eyes were still glued to the sky above him as he tried to remain indifferent to the news. Nonetheless, Vic continued, “She left this with my protegee.”

He turned, eyeing the card that Vic held between his fingers. Henry quickly sat up and snatched it from him, carefully watching the numbers on the card.

“Seriously, Henry, I don’t think you should—”

“Why was she at your shop?”

“I told you, to question Elijah. Sasha’s brother?”

Henry eyed the blonde-haired man warily, “And?”

“And nothing.”

Henry flipped the card between his fingers, until he finally decided to shove it into his pocket, pushing himself off the car, “Where’s Belch?”

“He’s at home with his mom,” he paused, before carefully asking, “And…?”

“And what?”

Vic raised his dark brow in a knowing manner. He never understood why the guy kept bleaching his hair. He looked like a fucking idiot with his dark brows and his platinum blonde hair. The guy was a fucking dumbass. At times, Henry wondered if maybe he was gay, but the fact that Vic was as much of a womanizer as he was in his days crushed those thoughts. Still. He had his doubts.

“Don’t fucking worry yourself about it. Just keep doing what you’re doing.”

“Stay away from her Henry, I’ve seen her with that cop, they’re getting pretty close. Not to mention, Greta—”

“Greta is a fucking cunt.”

“Be that as it may, she says she’s seen them getting chummy… you’re only going to hurt yourself Hen, don’t—”

“Hey Criss,” Henry started, flicking his cigarette on the ground and stomping it out with his boot, “Mind your fucking business, and take care what you say to me next.”

Victor sighed heavily as he turned and walked back towards his car, “Whatever,” he paused in front of his car, staring up at the house. His eyes narrowing as he continued to stare until his eyes finally met Henry’s, “Henry… just—just be careful.”

Henry flipped him off, turning his back on him as he made his way into the house, ignoring the double meaning between Victor’s words. As if he couldn’t take care of himself. He spent his whole life taking care of himself. He knew what he was doing. He didn’t need to hear a lecture on being careful from Victor fucking Criss.

The lights of his car brightened the front of his house momentarily as his backed out of the driveway and into the night. He watched as the red rear lights descended into the distance, watching the darkness envelop him until Henry turned and took a seat on the porch’s sidesteps; his hands reaching for the card in his pocket.

He stared at it. His eyes fixating on the numbers and the name in the front until he finally sighed and pulled out his phone, punching in the numbers as he quickly typed a message, hoping to god that she would forgive him for the outburst he had earlier.

And thus, the waiting began.

* * *

**Reader**

The crude drawings that filled the book were beautiful in their own dark, macabre kind of way. The poetry itself was even darker than the pictures that Jenica drew.

She read over it continuously, underlining certain aspects that might help their investigation.

_I am lost forever,_

_in watered down grey._

_Sparkling silver,_

_I am crashing against the waves._

Y/N’s brows knitted in confusion, _what the fuck does this even mean?_

She tossed the book aside in anger, irritated that she couldn’t quite place the cryptic messages that Jenica left behind.

Her phone vibrated violently in her pocket. She pulled it out, glancing at an unfamiliar number on it along with a message. Simultaneously, a gentle knocking came from her door. She set her phone down on the nightstand, choosing to read the message later as she gripped the gun on her holster, “Who is it?”

“It’s me,” Roman answered from the other side.

Y/N quickly released her hold on the gun. She glanced at her reflection on the TV, patting down her hair and running frantic fingers through it until she was satisfied.

Her hand steadily undid the locks, and she pulled the door open a fraction to lock gazes with Roman, who stood looking as handsome as ever in front of her in a black trench coat, a grey dress shirt and black slacks. His normally pushed back hair was let loose in straight strands, “Were you busy?”

“Not really,” she answered, feeling somewhat irritated once more at the contents of Jenica’s poetry book, “I was trying to decipher a fucking code over there.”

Roman chuckled, glancing at the book on her bed, “I think you need a break.”

“Roman, I can’t—”

“We’ve rain checked before, and you’ve been moody all day— which is understandable,” he said, a gentle smile crossing his lips, “Take a break, I know you probably haven’t eaten…”

As if on cue, her stomach began to grumble, and she glanced at her feet in embarrassment, “I ate.”

“Coffee doesn’t count, Y/N,” he chuckled, “C’mon.”

Y/N wanted to resist, but she didn’t try to. She quickly turned and grabbed her coat, tossing it on and pushing her keys in her pockets as she locked the door behind her. She followed Roman to his expensive black BMW as He rushed ahead of her to open the door, prompting a confused glance from Y/N, “Not used to men opening the door for you?”

“I can open my own door.”

“It’s called being chivalrous, Y/N,” he said as she climbed in and he carefully closed the door behind her. She watched him with curious eyes as he rounded the car and opened the driver’s door, closing it quietly behind him. He continued to speak as he pulled out of the parking lot, “There really isn’t a good amount of fine dining here, so are you alright with heading out to Bangor?”

“Its fine,” she answered, leaning back against the comfortable seat. She hadn’t realized how exhausted she was as well until she allowed Roman to driver her to the next town. As of late, she had been lost in her emotions and trying to cover her own, as well as Henry’s ass, that she hadn’t been resting too good.

Not to mention, the sight of Emily Hamill’s skinless body plagued her dreams day in and day out; no amount of alcohol and pills could erase the image of her lifeless body from her mind.

She allowed herself to rest momentarily, the sound of Roman’s BMW purring her to sleep. If Roman noticed, he didn’t say a word, instead opting to remain silent as he drove.

The gesture, however small it may have been, was greatly appreciated, considering she rarely got the chance to just lay back and rest. And for the first time in a while, all her worries subsided as she drifted off to sleep without her cocktail of medications and alcohol.

* * *

Y/N twirled the noodles around her fork, scarfing them down shamelessly. She couldn’t remember the last time she had eaten, maybe yesterday. Or the day before. It didn’t matter. Not when her stomach was usually full of coffee and liquor.

Roman glanced at her with amusement, smirking to himself as he stabbed a piece of broccoli with his fork. She had to admit, she was a bit happy that Roman didn’t take no for answer, even though much of their time was spent in silence, Roman’s presence made her feel safe; almost as if she could let loose and relax.

“So,” Y/N started as she wiped her lips with a napkin.

“So,” Roman repeated.

“I still don’t know much about you,” Y/N pointed as she took a sip of her lemonade, eyeing Roman curiously.

He chuckled, the dimples on his cheeks indenting as he did so, “I’m from Pennsylvania. I think I mentioned before that Derry P.D seeked me out because of my track record, which I’m sure you’ve read.”

“Pretty impressive,” Y/N complimented, recalling the number of arrests he made and how many cases were closed while he was detective there, “Why’d you take the offer?”

Roman sighed heavily as he sat back in his chair, he ran a hand through his loose hair as he glanced at his feet. Slowly, he began, “There was this one time when I got called into the hospital. A girl had been beaten damn near to death and raped. We did all we could to get her to identify her attacker, but she wasn’t giving anyone up… and once her husband arrived— It was obvious who was responsible. Of course, we couldn’t prove anything, and she wasn’t talking.

A few days later, we get a 9-1-1 call. The girl is sent to the hospital again, and I show up, along with my previous partner. She’s beaten, bloody, her face looks– her face wasn’t what it was. She died that night.”

He paused momentarily as he exhaled deeply until he continued, “I lost it. I went after him, and I beat him within an inch of his life. They had a two-year-old daughter.”

Y/N’s brows crinkled together in sympathy as she stared at him, his eyes finally glancing up to meet hers. She cleared her throat, whispering quietly as she asked, “And then what happened?”

Roman leaned forward to take a sip from his Coke, licking his lips as he answered, “The P.D. tried to cover up what I did, but I didn’t want them to do that for me. I can’t stand corruption. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if they had covered for me. So, I resigned. Unbeknownst to me, Chief Carson and my old police chief were acquainted, and my resume as well as my track record was suspiciously passed to Carson by an ‘unknown’ source.”

“Looks like someone was looking out for you.”

Roman shrugged, “It was wrong… but I promised that I would do better and try to control myself… I obviously haven’t been doing such a good job, what with the fight I had with Bowers.”

“You got emotional, it happens.”

“It shouldn’t,” he retorted, his green eyes wide as he glanced at her. His thick full lips slightly pouted, “I was pissed at you for stopping me that day, but I’m glad you did. Otherwise I would have lost my job again, and I’m sorry I tried to force you to arrest him.”

“It’s water under the bridge Roman,” she assured, leaning forward as her hands curled around her forearms, “If anything… I know that you at least give a damn.”

“Someone has to,” he replied sadly, his eyes falling back to his feet.

Y/N licked her lips, a sudden thought coming to mind, “What happened to the little girl and her father?”

Roman glanced up at her, his jewel green eyes wide again as he spoke indifferently, “CPS got involved and investigated. She was taken care of, surprisingly. She stayed with her father. And we couldn’t prove it was him that murdered his wife.”

Her brows furrowed in anger, “What?”

Roman’s hands rubbed his face as he leaned forward, exhaling deeply as he spoke, “It’s like you said, we can’t save them all.”

A sudden sadness filled Y/N at her own words being reflected at her. She was aware of her own cynicism, but seeing it being mirrored to her was disappointing, especially considering it came from someone good. Someone true.

“You’re not supposed to have that mindset Roman, that’s my job.”

“Why not?”

“Because one of us has to believe that we can save them. I’d rather it be you,” she answered, locking her gaze on his, urging him to believe her.

Roman continued to stare at her, a range of emotions crossing his facial features from confusion to suspicion. He leaned forward as he asked quietly, “You’re awfully cynical to be in law enforcement… why did you choose your profession?”

“Why did you?”

“I thought we were past dodging questions,” he said, exasperated at the idea that despite Y/N promising honesty, she was trying to avoid his question.

She sighed heavily, searching for the answer within herself. Her thoughts ranged from trying to help others to wanting to do the right thing, but such things were lies the more she asked herself, _why?_

A pair of grey green eyes suddenly found themselves in her vision. The reminder and feeling of Patrick Hockstetter’s presence sent chills down her spine the more she thought of him and the twisted things he did. The twisted things they did together.

Her eyes were locked on Roman’s, but she wasn’t focused on him, her thoughts were still on Patrick as she finally answered, as honestly as she could, “To try to understand why these killers do what they do.”

“You could have become a shrink.”

“I want to understand it, not fucking treat them. I can’t even fix my own shit, imagine me trying to treat the man that does that gets his rocks off on killing innocent women.”

Roman’s brows knitted, his eyes narrowed as he caught what she was saying, “And what kind of shit is that?”

Y/N pursed her lips together as she thoughtlessly twirled noodles around her fork, regretting what she just said. Her eyes met Roman’s as he waited for her answer expectantly, his stare adamant and firm that he was not going to back down from his question.

It’s only fair, she thought to herself, exhaling deeply as she readied herself for something she hadn’t done.

“The shit that requires medication and lots of alcohol,” she answered, avoiding Roman’s stare as she continued, her gaze locked on the noodles on her plate, “I didn’t have the best childhood.”

“I gathered,” Roman pointed. She met his stare momentarily, if only to see if that remark was made to be sarcastic, “People talk. You’ve let slip a couple of details… not to mention being around those guys… I can imagine what that would–”

“It wasn’t just them, Roman,” she whispered, her mind falling deeper into the repressed memories she tried so hard to keep buried since returning. Whispers filled her ears, and she felt phantom hands roughly pushing calloused fingers inside of her. She shuddered, pursing her lips as she fought within herself to regain concentration and control.

_It’s over_ , she reminded herself… but she knew that somehow, it wasn’t. _He still won._

She could feel Roman’s probing eyes on her, as if he wanted to press the issue further, but was doubting if he should.

“Whatever you heard, some of it is true, I don’t want to elaborate on what, only because talking about it out loud is still hard,” she said, breaking the silence and finally meeting his gaze, “Everyone has a past, Roman. Mine just happened to fuck me up and turn me into a hot mess.”

She reached for her lemonade, wishing it was vodka, or whiskey. Whichever. She sipped loudly as her fingers drummed on the side of the glass cup, the drops of water soaking her fingers as she did so.

Roman reached forward to take her free hand in his. Her brows furrowed at the action. She and Roman had been sweet on each other for the past few weeks, that wasn’t a lie. Over the course of the last few days, the small gestures of affection seemed to dwindle after she slept with Henry. It wasn’t to say that she lost interest in Roman, if anything, she felt terrible about what happened and at times she couldn’t bear the thought of what he would think of her if he ever found out. But this small touch sent electric jolts down her spine, and her heart drummed with anticipation, waiting for him to say something.

“Mess or not, I wouldn’t want you any other way.”

His words sent a chill up her spine and a warmness began to set into her cheeks.

Y/N glanced down at her near empty plate, suddenly feeling awkward and nervous at his words. She cleared her throat, gently pulling her hand away from his, “If you knew it all, I have a feeling you’d change your mind.”

“You presume too much,” Roman retorted, “I’ve heard enough to know about what kind of person you were. And I’ve seen enough to know that you’re not that person anymore, regardless of what you think or how many medications you have to take.”

His words made her eyes water as she avoided his intense gaze and focused her eyes on her feet instead. Her voice came out as a faint whisper when she finally decided to speak again, “We should go.”

If he had any objections, he didn’t voice them, instead nodding in agreement as he left a tip for the waitress and ushered Y/N towards the front door while he insisted he pay for dinner, “I got this, you can pay next time.”

Would there be a next time though?

Considering how much guilt she was feeling now over her impulsive nature, she knew she should pursue a relationship with Roman. It would complicate everything.

_You’ve already complicated everything_.

She eyed Roman as he shot the hostess a friendly smile as he paid, her mind running rampant at the possibilities with him.

Once he was finished paying the check, he gently nudged Y/N out of the restaurant, hurrying ahead of her to open the door for her once again. Normally, such a gesture would have her rolling her eyes in irritation, thinking that the man was probably just trying to get laid.

But this was Roman, and though the action irritated her at first, it suddenly made her feel important.

Patrick was never like this… not even Henry, she thought as Roman quietly shut her door behind her when she was inside the car, strapping the seatbelt over her shoulder. She sighed heavily when he entered the car and started up the engine, expecting a long tangent on how she was a good person and he didn’t care.

But nothing came, and Y/N was grateful for it. It gave her time to adequately assess her thoughts and emotions since the ride back would be a somewhat lengthy one.

On the one hand, relationships were too much weight for Y/N. She’d been in and out of so many failed relationships that she just gave up and accepted the fact that she was far too damaged to be intimate with anyone. Patrick had seen to that. Her father had seen to that.

The men that were supposed to protect her and nurture her were the ones that drove her over the edge, it was a miracle in and of itself that Henry wasn’t a large contributing factor to her madness the way Patrick and her father were. If anything, he helped awaken some semblance of humanity left in her. If he hadn’t done so, maybe she still would have stayed.

The thought made her shudder.

On the other hand, Roman was not Patrick. Roman was not Henry. Roman was Roman. He was passionate. He was true. He was everything that you see in romance films; the embodiment of a man that’s not afraid to go after what he wants, a man who is able to see the good (however deep it may be) in her, even if she couldn’t see it.

Still, he was so passionate and true to himself that if he ever found out about what she had done with Henry… it would be not only the end of something that never had a chance to grow, but it could also mean the end of her career.

_Roman isn’t like that_ , she assured herself, knowing for a fact that she was just lying to herself.

Y/N was too caught up in her thoughts, enveloped in her own anxiety at what could happen and what she wanted to happen between them that she furrowed her brows when Roman’s BMW pulled up in front of her hotel room, the headlights illuminating the light blue front door in a golden-white glow.

Roman undid his seat belt as Y/N lazily unclasped hers, within moments, he was on her side, pulling the door open with a sweet smile that she couldn’t help but reciprocate, her cheeks burning in response.

Y/N reached into her pockets, the keys jingling as she pulled them out and played with them as she awkwardly unlocked her door. Once the locks were done, she turned to Roman, who was standing beside her with his hands in his coat, shivering slightly.

His jewel green eyes were locked on hers, the silver glow of the moon reflected on them. For almost a moment, they seemed a familiar shade of grey green eyes. Almost.

Her eyes fell on his soft, pouty lips, and she wondered what they tasted like.

“I meant what I said,” Roman started, his voice surprisingly level considering he was trembling just moments before, “Every word.”

Y/N caught herself holding her breath as she tried to carefully choose her words, “Why?”

Roman pursed his lips as he closed the distance between them, his hands still in their pockets as he answered, “Because, as cynical as you are, I know you care.”

“Now you’re the one presuming too much,” Y/N said, mirroring his words back to him.

“Is it too much to presume that you care about me?” he asked as he lifted his hands out of the pockets of his coat and gently placed a strand of hair behind her ear.

She glanced at him, trying to get a read on his expression and what his intentions were. Yet, through all her searching, she found no trace of maliciousness or lies. All she saw in front of her was hope… and a possibility for a better future. For healing.

It was time to move on. And she could do so with Roman.

Her fingers reached for his coat, pulling him in and pressing a sweet kiss on his lips. His hands gently cupped her face as she pulled him back, her hand twisting the knob of her hotel room and inviting him into the dimly lit room with her.

As much need and want as there was, it wasn’t rushed or fervent. It was slow, and gentle. Roman was caring, and passionate, and it showed in his touch; how he wanted to savor every moment.

Her eyes closed when he gently laid her on the bed, his lips planting wet kisses along her neck as his hand caressed the skin under her shirt.

She was so entranced by his touch, by his kisses, that she almost didn’t hear a roaring, motorcycle engine speeding off into the night.

* * *

**Leah Sharp**

Leah tried to peek through the rag that was tied over her eyes. Her head throbbed heavily, and she felt nauseous. The taste of vodka and something else tinged her dry mouth.

“Ugh,” she whimpered.

“Are you thirsty?” a sleek voice asked from across the room.

Leah stiffened in response, her eyes opening underneath the rag over her eyes, she could vaguely see through the bottom. She was able to see the rest of her body tied down on top of a metal table, the waitressing uniform she wore was speckled with dust here and there.

The sound of boots against the concrete ground echoed in her ears. She tried to remain calm as the man, whomever he was, shoved a thin tube between her lips.

“Drink,” he ordered, his voice still silky, yet firm and demanding.

Instinctively, she did as she was told and sucked, her tongue and mouth feeling refreshed at the cool water replenishing her.

“Good girl,” he said, gently running a cool hand through her hair, making her shudder, “Take it easy, don’t want to have you throwing it all up.”

Reluctantly, she stopped drinking, allowing him to pull away the straw and listening intently as he set the cup on a hard surface. His boots loudly filled the silence of the air as he made his way towards her again.

She shivered as he breathed heavily beside her, she could feel the tip of his nose on her skin as he breathed her in. He chuckled quietly the more she shuddered.

Leah gulped quietly, her voice trembling as she spoke, “W-who are you? What are you going to do to me?”

It was dead silent for a few moments, and Leah became afraid that she was left alone. But she knew she wasn’t alone, she could feel him still standing beside her. He ran another hand through her hair, his cold hands taking hold of a bunch of her hair, pulling it roughly, “I think you know who I am. And you know what I’m going to do to you.”

Leah let out a sob, she was afraid now. She did know who this was. She did know what was going to happen to her. She knew she was going to end up dead on the side of a road, or on someone’s property, “I—I don’t want to die.”

“We all die,” he said simply as his boots retreated. The sound of clicking filled her ears, and then the sound of crackling static and then the familiar melody of My Girl beginning, “But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to have fun with you before you die.”

“Please–” she whimpered, feeling the tears begin to pool in her eyes. She wasn’t ready. She still had so much she wanted to do. Tali would be heartbroken, “Please, don’t do this. Please–”

She shouted as she felt something cool begin to slither on her thighs, followed by the sound of tearing fabric. She tried to kick, but the action was rendered useless as she realized that her legs were bound open. His voice was cool and on tone as he sang along with the song, snapping his fingers along with tune, _“I’ve got sunshine, on a cloudy daaaay…”_

“No, please! No! NO!”

She shouted in agony as he the snapping stopped, and he shoved something long and sharp inside of her. He laughed in glee at the sound of her pained cries echoing in the musky room she was in, pushing him to twist it inside of her. He thrusted the knife continuously inside of her, like he was fucking her with it and each time he thrusted, she felt the pain begin to intensify as a pool of blood began to gather underneath her, soaking the rest of her uniform.

Her body shivered, and she let out a loud cry as he roughly pulled out the knife from inside of her. Her legs trembled, and her breathing became labored the longer she laid in the cold room. In an instant, the rest of the uniform was torn off, her nipples hardened at the sudden cool air hitting her naked body.

She felt something heavy begin to descend on her. The smell of cigarettes filled her nostrils, and she shivered as his hot breath contacted her cold skin.

“Please,” she begged, knowing what was coming, “Please don’t.”

She shuddered as his wet tongue danced across her cheek, “But, I’m not finished with you. This is only the beginning. I haven’t been having nearly as much fun lately, and it’s getting boring. But _you_ ,” he hummed, his voice so calm and slick, his hand gripping her chin harshly as he warned, “You’re going to bring me loads of fun. You’re going to scream. And if you don’t, it will be worse for you. Do you understand?”

Defeated, Leah nodded. Tears soaked through the rag over her eyes, and to make herself feel better, she thought of Tali. She sent her thoughts to her, wishing she would have tried harder to make her happy. Wishing she could have told her she loved her more than anything.

She shouted in pain as she felt him roughly push himself inside of her, the fresh cuts aching with the movement of his thrusts. The pain inside of her subsided as she felt the sharp knife pushed into her left breast, trails of blood falling from her side and joining the pool of blood on the table.

Leah wished it would end. But, she knew it was futile, it would end when he wanted it to. And the chances of that happening anytime soon were nonexistent.

Sobbing, she shut her eyes, trying to take herself to a happy place, but there was none. There was only her, the pain… and him.


End file.
